literature

prophet-bone

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Nullibicity's avatar
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Literature Text

(You speak of the sea in colors and ash,
but I never felt condemned)

deserts crack your lips,
spilling sand past snake-bite hands
while you preach of how god brings rain.

I have to wonder when the last time
was that you had a solid drink of air.
Or perhaps you are too full:
hot air balloons to journey up to ceilings
where you spill horizon eyes to be.

One word prompt: prophet.


I'm better now. More composed. But I'm always neglecting you. I'm sorry.
Perhaps no comment/favorites would make me not feel guilty.
I've just resorted to deviantART as the wasteland of my soul. I need this right now.
(so I'm sorry if I spam your inboxes. Though, I've been horrible to you... I almost wish you'd be horrible to me.)
© 2014 - 2024 Nullibicity
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