Crowned with sun-kissed petals and moral culpability
I drag half of Greece to the dark side,
locked away in a room where winter writes poems
and where inhibitions are laid to rest.
The sky is a palette of gutsy silver awaiting form
I, a siren of the ancient islets, desire nothing but carnality
and dream of honey-dipped corpses,
pierced in the most glorious of agony until they fall into oblivion.
How can love be so unforgiving?
How can it rise past my jaded lips like a host of thoughts
why do tears spread like fire across smooth skin?
My words on a muted twilight tumble out just to be near him
only he doesn’t care to listen.
Carelessly I shuffle the light of day
releasing souls and such back to their normal state
for at night I allow my emotions to be true to themselves
there is no escape
when it comes to the heart and a constantly wailing conscience,
or is there?
Photo credits: Pinterest
Bjorn challenges us to be an ‘unreliable narrator’ and
tell a story that is not ours, exaggerate and lie, but
think a bit on how to expose ourselves.
Posted on Weekend Challenge @ Real Toads
& Posted on ‘Open Link Night’ @ dVerse Pub
& Posted on Poetry Pantry @ Poets United