Picture : Pepijn Simon
A different dimension kisses my feet,
like a gently retreating shoreline wave.
My feet give way, the sands are not my friends,
a little crackle I feel under my head,
then warmth kisses my neck.
Ascended or descended? Just darkness towards the end.
A paradise of flesh, ponds, crows and snakes,
where notes become oxygen,
my eyes cry poetry,
I bleed carbon,
and my lashes harp melodies.
Glitter in my vessels,
and molten chocolate for eternity.
Coffee made with curd,
dreams stained with mud,
my diamonds nowhere to be heard.
My corner cold and dead,
yet smells and feels like home.
Ascended or descended?
Why does my neck feel so sore?
The smell when bodies burn,
shall block all your airways whole,
and the charred skins will make you learn,
life could’ve stretched a bit more.
So chew the rest that remains,
with a glass of wine swallow the ash and bone,
mortal begets mortal, mortal eats the slain,
the mossy tides shall bring the bodies home.