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She has one sock rolled up. And one sock down. The sock rolled up. Is brown. Like her glassy eyes. That view the world. With an ocean between. Reality and her soul. Her dress is green.
Black shadows upon the face, The earphone veins beat strong in place, All charged with blood, euphoric pulse, A rhythmic heart, its tunes convulse.
Embers burn the ground,. Ashes falling from the sky,. Standing knee deep in water. to shallow to drown,. Dropping onto porcelain skin,. Hands held out,. Burning my hand until the ashes thin,.
Silver hand upon the window,. Dewdrops fall upon the wrist,. Falling through the blood soaked veil,. Post death wisdom isn't bliss,. Black screen, cold glass, ice blue flame,.
Eye of a needle threading a design. Pins marking on the hands of time. Sewing each individual line. Sketching weapons of art, Intricate patterns woven to life. From under the skin, emotion & heart.
Sunset on the shell shoal beach. Water lapping the slothful shells. And there sat among the natural beauty, Lays the bloody footsteps that ring bells.