Plathisized

sylvia-plath-poppies

This blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it. – plath (via Mayaa Dixit)
~
I have no use
for sights and words
that can topple my top
of the world perch
~
words
are like Matryoshka
dolls, that keep
on opening infinite
possibilities~
~

each word
drop on virgin
sheets
is a story
along vermilion
borders
~
each rustle
is a tussle
body and spirit’s
wrestle puddling
crimson spills
in untold
tales
hell raising
~
what gets
spat(tulated)
twisted, turned
baked post churned
is a bleeding heart
extraordinary, unaware
and that is
it’s tragedy
~ image is via google

 

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