INK

The sun under I feet
Last night’s sight caught in a basket of ashes
A pair of smiles crashed in sweet sour taste of tongues
Reflected images of tearful voices in the mirror of I soul

I conscience takes a pause
As I undress words worn in wild moons
Tongues melt that which is wrapped in venom

Look closely;
The loud silent shadow speaks
I word choking death, the tense past growing extinct

I cracked the dream, searching for insanity I sanctuary
I find pieces of dirty linen patched together
With the salts of I egg year

I smell the ignorance of this living world
I am but dead as I breathe in scrolls
Ink a reflection of I persona
Reborn am I while leaves marks of
Bleeding truth