Disorder

Hot nights hold pain 

in their wispy folds of fire clouds;

my skin is a monster, 

my body rebels.

---

Why is this room 

tinted scarlet? It was as if it were 

full of pink smoke, the color of sunsets, 

suffocating me, turning me to 

a mass of weeping blisters. 

the blankets are woven 

from the pelts of demons. 

---

I want to bathe in the 

soft healing waters, but when they

touch me, they evaporate, and 

I am left alone. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed