FUTILE

I tire of love and terrorism, the
way my broken heart lay claim
to territory unknown before; the
way the softness of these blankets fall
like bombs in your wake; the
way the hunger for calm strikes and
starves and
feeds in rations; the
way this post trauma stands guard
at closed eyes and
changes sentry as I awaken;
the way it loops itself about my mushroom cloud, and
belts its breath on my cheek. I
tire of scratching at hope like
hope is a trivial blush at another chance. I
grow weary of this kamikaze daze,
my eyes the fluorescence of every wound un-bared. I
ignite from within, limp and lost
from so much exploding without.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 July, 2017

2 comments

  1. Wow, I see your creative juices exploding in your juiced up awakening everversal mind. The connection is strong and your skill flows everlong – in a world so wrong, it seems only right. That creatives stand strong, that creatives unite.

    The light at the end of the tunnel and the darkness around us prevailing because of human evil, seems to go hand in hand with the growing energies of mystically whimsical people, around the globe, I see them in energy form. Like a bubbling water droplet flowing along or out of a conscious cellular faucet. For we are here and we are awesome, the awesome humans in defence of an earth in peril. Our world – our mother, is in need and truly, I believe we exist because of the manifestation of planetary magic, the upper echelon of some semi universal mind. A connective mysticism from outside of space and time.

    Liked by 1 person

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