COLLAPSED STAR
Pastel clouds hang over sadness
like night draws black satin curtains
over absent-minded eyes.
Darkness drips,
collapsed star,
bold and black bottomless chasm,
dragging dirt and debris of past-
Lifeless haze hangs heavily overhead
pressures plummet-
She sinks into rain filled with pain.
She steeps,
deeper into blood shamed marrow.
She spoils inside,
rotten-
Staggering through the storm.
Alone
She bleeds stone
through cracks in cold hearts.
Her roots are shaken,
she's stirred, undernourished,
depleted, sick-
Dried up and calloused
in the belly of Venus.
Her shape,
full round purple planet
held at the base of my lunar spine.
Yet the wreckage remains blurred-
How does the universe implode?
Explode!
I can still hear grief-stricken screams
petrified, calcified
inside the bones of ribs-
Skeleton dribbles and drains.
Scandals, scraped and shredded
in shedding skins.
Am I torn or reborn?
I can't lift my head to see the horizon-
I'm bound at the foot of the Dragon,
slayed by the tongue of my underbelly.
Engulfing, convulsing, and heaving,
I can't sip in blood stained air!
I'm motionless in the mire,
seared inside the incineration-
My affliction stains the clouds...
The pastel clouds,
Passing... Passing... Passing...
Passing.
Me.
By-
- Tiny Poet, Collapsed Star, 2016
like night draws black satin curtains
over absent-minded eyes.
Darkness drips,
collapsed star,
bold and black bottomless chasm,
dragging dirt and debris of past-
Lifeless haze hangs heavily overhead
pressures plummet-
She sinks into rain filled with pain.
She steeps,
deeper into blood shamed marrow.
She spoils inside,
rotten-
Staggering through the storm.
Alone
She bleeds stone
through cracks in cold hearts.
Her roots are shaken,
she's stirred, undernourished,
depleted, sick-
Dried up and calloused
in the belly of Venus.
Her shape,
full round purple planet
held at the base of my lunar spine.
Yet the wreckage remains blurred-
How does the universe implode?
Explode!
I can still hear grief-stricken screams
petrified, calcified
inside the bones of ribs-
Skeleton dribbles and drains.
Scandals, scraped and shredded
in shedding skins.
Am I torn or reborn?
I can't lift my head to see the horizon-
I'm bound at the foot of the Dragon,
slayed by the tongue of my underbelly.
Engulfing, convulsing, and heaving,
I can't sip in blood stained air!
I'm motionless in the mire,
seared inside the incineration-
My affliction stains the clouds...
The pastel clouds,
Passing... Passing... Passing...
Passing.
Me.
By-
- Tiny Poet, Collapsed Star, 2016