A set of eyes made of camera lenses take a prolonged shot of a bundle of flowers
The slow movement of the after hours
Box of open bandaids,
Mindlessly peeling off the covers
The absence of your mind,
The presence of our body’s like abandoned towers
Standing very still
The floor is no longer under your feet
Theres only one tile between you and any fate you’ve been strategically avoiding to meet
The sugar coated walls start to disintegrate, peeling off the sheets
But it’s in this stillness that we sleep
About the Creator
Goldie
Addiction to my pen sweeping cobwebs in my mind
The brief feeling of structure when my thoughts start to rhyme
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.