deepundergroundpoetry.com
Burnt winter ( Plumeria )
An enlarged black pupil seeing into the face that leans close to the screen trying to get a better look at the smirking man in the computer.
A circle of light, almost snow, blue iris hypnotizing the green eyes that stare intently back, waiting for the hallucination to re-appear, or was that real?
A semi wide tear duct is noticed after staring for an overly amount of time at the man who shows the small characteristic of being lonely.
She can see the white of the screen as he takes the picture in the clear cornea, see the screen blistering white off the black of his pupil she so stares at.
It wasn't the color of the iris's that made her stare, no because they are so obviously fraud, it was the black of the pupils, the way they invited her onto the bed behind him.
She found herself wondering these wonderous things about those pupils:
Have they seen pain as hers?
Have they seen crimson running down pale arms?
Have they seen places like hers?
Have they been blacked out like hers?
Have they the ablility to close when quickly running the strings?
Have they felt tears like hers?
Have they felt swelling of bruises as hers?
Snowtime falls across Autumn hills when the screen goes black because she hasn't moved the mouse when she stared into the pupils, into the black holes of eyes like hers, or so he said.
A burnt smell fills her nose though she knows it's just the fire she's burning in her hand.
Paper with writing.
It reads:
" I am an Opheliac. "
A circle of light, almost snow, blue iris hypnotizing the green eyes that stare intently back, waiting for the hallucination to re-appear, or was that real?
A semi wide tear duct is noticed after staring for an overly amount of time at the man who shows the small characteristic of being lonely.
She can see the white of the screen as he takes the picture in the clear cornea, see the screen blistering white off the black of his pupil she so stares at.
It wasn't the color of the iris's that made her stare, no because they are so obviously fraud, it was the black of the pupils, the way they invited her onto the bed behind him.
She found herself wondering these wonderous things about those pupils:
Have they seen pain as hers?
Have they seen crimson running down pale arms?
Have they seen places like hers?
Have they been blacked out like hers?
Have they the ablility to close when quickly running the strings?
Have they felt tears like hers?
Have they felt swelling of bruises as hers?
Snowtime falls across Autumn hills when the screen goes black because she hasn't moved the mouse when she stared into the pupils, into the black holes of eyes like hers, or so he said.
A burnt smell fills her nose though she knows it's just the fire she's burning in her hand.
Paper with writing.
It reads:
" I am an Opheliac. "
Published 8th Sep 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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comments 3
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The author encourages honest critique.
8th Sep 2011 9:35pm
9th Sep 2011 2:56am
what does "running the strings" mean?
This was very pretty and had a very unsettling air. I wrote about burning paper too tonight.. strange, huh?
Anyway, I liked the feeling in it. The kind of off-kilter peace before one hell of a storm.. kudos on setting the mood.
This was very pretty and had a very unsettling air. I wrote about burning paper too tonight.. strange, huh?
Anyway, I liked the feeling in it. The kind of off-kilter peace before one hell of a storm.. kudos on setting the mood.
9th Sep 2011 3:11am
"Running the strings" refers to my humble addiction:
Playing the electric violin.
Thank you for the comment.
Playing the electric violin.
Thank you for the comment.
