Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

Tearcicles

Flakes of glass snow into my lungs,

a hint of liquor… in ruined soundlessness.

There may be rationality beyond a dammed flow of reason.

 

Shards of rain… shower into my eyes… shattering.

Bloody tearcicles slither beneath these eyelids.

Oh the aurora snow and I are so destructive.

 

Hail sheared my face in the storming, insanity strikes,

lacerating my fleshy coat…

“Here I am!”