Known Cold

I don’t recognise the shape of my eyes
Or the curve my lips take
To hide or show a smile.

Can we alter the shape of smoke
Or the shape of light?
Maybe, what we can do
Is alter the shape of my mind.

We speak truth as lies
And lies as truth.
In the only language we have known.

I need to know new things

Maybe a new language?
Because the paths engraved in my head
Are a source of endless pain.

Rivulets of blood are rivers
That never descend down.
Circling in thin spirals, they flow
And float.

I have thorns growing, it is cold.
The blanket prickles as
More blood joins the flow.

There must be a mountain somewhere
But for now, there is only a moon
And the emptiness of space as my feet

Try to find their known ground.

~insight07

•
Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.