speech splinters

Hazy lights per­mit into swollen eyes
Awak­en from the dusk and dew
Yet time is not tangible
Out­stretched limbs grasp wrin­kled sheets

Brisk air blan­kets vul­ner­a­ble skin
Shiv­ers not from cold but uncertainty
Cracked lips part, inhaling
Wheez­ing for words
Cryp­tic frag­ments with­out voice

Veins puls­ing, mus­cles contract
Knees pressed to chest
Pe­riph­er­als disappear
The mind is a labyrinth that echoes with­in itself
 
 

—aman­da maurer

Flom­mist Aman­da Mau­r­er likes art and bugs. She is also an in­tro­vert­ed artist with a lot to say. Heavy tea drinker. Finds joy in sim­ple as­pects of life. Copy­right © 2016 Aman­da Maurer.

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