deepundergroundpoetry.com

Murmur

head underwater
body afraid
I have been
no pale Ophelia
resting on the river glass
but thrashing,
kicking
the stomach of a riptide,
curdling beneath it,
hair elevated,
eyes dilated,
steeped in the craze,
a need to survive,
a fumble in the darkness
after waking somewhere unsafe.
I still remember you,  
those dark wood blinds.  
Pancakes for breakfast,
my turned out insides.
And it's as if memories exist  
in that midnight zone,
eternal and frantic,
fragmented and electrified.
It is  
everything to hear the reeds again,
see where  I scuffed my knee,  
where the beds lead out to nowhere,
to a place I didn't know
I could dive into
until I knew you.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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