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Do I ever know what I'm talking about?
I feel intangible. The breeze of my soul tangles my hair as it rushes out from my lips and into the world to dissipate like so many forgotten words that now will never be spoken.
I stand in a field of flowers, surrounded by the sky with color-hued petals on my tongue (taste the rainbow). The sky is bruised and the horizon trembles through tears that are shed too often. My eyes are burning with the need for dark-cool-soothing, eyelashes fluttering dark moon crescents on my cheek. The sun scorches my skin and I am screaming in my baptism of watered flames, left desolate in the landscape of faith.
Reaching out pale arms and palms stained red with my sins, smeared and forsaken by myself.
I can't see.
I am blind, and mirrors are my eyes.
I stand in a field of flowers, surrounded by the sky with color-hued petals on my tongue (taste the rainbow). The sky is bruised and the horizon trembles through tears that are shed too often. My eyes are burning with the need for dark-cool-soothing, eyelashes fluttering dark moon crescents on my cheek. The sun scorches my skin and I am screaming in my baptism of watered flames, left desolate in the landscape of faith.
Reaching out pale arms and palms stained red with my sins, smeared and forsaken by myself.
I can't see.
I am blind, and mirrors are my eyes.