My body, is the only
instrument i can play.
We would play a game,
which is more like an
illusion of your own arts,
candle waxed my knuckles
with your own webbed fingers,
and let it become the most undefined
forest i've ever seen.
I'm like a flute now,
because only if you hit me with the fists
of an aestroid, i will make a sound,
and that is poetry.
Only one hairstrand of
stream is left where it blooms out like a
cocoon into a string of violin the sun
uses to floss its teeth.
Call me wood, the wood that
made your trunks alive, only to smell
my leaves opening up to you like i trust you.
Being naive sold love consequences,
we still tend to play a game of truths
where i teach how the clouds cry for me
and you came there on perfect timing by
stepping on lightning.
I was once a campfire where
cold and melancholic people would come
and talk about their burdens,
i got so used to it i never had the chance
to warm myself with forest fires.
I see the sky as a sadist black, staring
back at me as the faint moonlight
guides me to a path of animal bites,
your sword-like teeth gliding above my chin,
perhaps, i'm no instrument no more,
just guts and flesh.
This performance was a wild zoo,
never knowing i had invited an animal
to my birthday.
-Sorry for being rarely active
in this app. Stay safe guys!
©sars.
J