UntitledThe words use to come.Untitled
Flow there my fingers.
I there host.
Now they have fluttered away.
The photos motionless,
The memories mute.
The things that my poetry grew from.
The foundation that I live on.
The thing I use to pride my self on.
My words use to sooth me.
Flow from my figures like I needed them to.
Now they have stopped.
I hate it!!!
I dance around this empty house
Tear us down
Throw you out
Screaming down the halls
Spinning all around and now we fall
Running, that was what was happening. You were running, you couldn't process why through all the adrenaline coursing through your brain. All that was in your mind now was red... the colour of blood... fire.
White, the colour of snow...
Blue, sometimes the colour of the night or of the moon... the daylight... the sea... freedom...
Green, life... new... new beginnings... and his eyes...
The black, darkness... That was what currently consumed you now. You were surround by it. Pitch black, and you were falling... or what felt like it. You shut your eyes as you felt yourself collide with the hard ground. Looking up, you found yourself in front of a grand staircase. You sat on the cold, checkered (black and white) tiles. Marble, cream pillars surrounded you. The lig