Little Bird Poetry

Snakes of silk slide over delicate skin Tightly coiling over wrist and cold steel There to serve purpose to both A fire burns from ankle to wrist Setting alight senses  Almost unknown Breath labored  Winds pushing through thick sails Always moving  Always to delight the witness Striking until the red appears Quite a fortune  For those present To witness such a  Sensual  Exchange

Emotions swirled like mixed paints Clinging and drying to white plastic Lingering until a thin blade swipes through Ripping it away Forcing it from the places in which it sits A constant reminder of loss One that seeks to stain clean surfaces of memory Why is it i'm still alive To reap the sorrows of mortality No matter the swell of sadness A crippling fear of death Is what continues the clock to tick A faint sound Echoing through a hollow head Letting the days fade into grey Scrambling to put pieces back together As it all keeps falling apart What am I to do with it all A ceaseless cycle Of not only worthless emotions But a sadness that digs so deep That it becomes part of me

Memories murky Puddles of foggy liquid Grasping at moving shapes Shadows shifting through old rainwater Somethings missing Wrinkled fingers scrap broken cement Just beneath the mirrored surface The one reflecting the grey above Cracks of lightening illuminating Seemingly bottomless pool I fear even when the water drains I still won't be able to find it