Clinging

I hang from branches,
tree-like.
stung by the whir
of a thousand words.


a knot in my hair
grows more tangled
but I can't be bothered

since my face
doesn't matter
and this trace
of somnolence
still seeps
from my clothes,
my eyes
looking on the inside
from outer space.


Distilled
and tired,
I fumble for a reason


for this dark heart,
this dim
grey
ocean



where emptiness grows,
unattended to
by thoughtless things.





Poetry by intothehaze
Read 1167 times
Written on 2005-11-18 at 17:47

Tags Thoughtless  Words  Dim 

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penfold18
excellent the more i read it the more i like it great stuff:-)
2005-11-18