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My false asylum stood,
Not so far away,
On beguiling,
Not so good,
Unsteady ground. Where jagged rocks say,
“Come by here. Come around.
There’s a blood waterfall and bay,
Of night-sweat-bed and tears,
For you to take a happy tumble down.”

I jump into the crimson loch,
Upon collapse.
Whilst those,
Jagged rocks,
Say, “Good luck” and laugh.

Evil looking juts,
Cut up bone and flesh,
Like they were trying,
To pierce a stone.
The sharpest point,
Whose name is Stress,
Stared hard,
Straight through my soul.

A broken body. A broken head.
Lay aside a broken spirit. Dead.

And, from their sanguine smithereens,
I awokened.
Betwixt vermillion jigsaw dreams,
Interwoven.
Tiny pieces of me in the blood waterfall,
And bay renewed.
I mix rejuvenating reds; sweat, tears, gall,
And sand, into a glue.

On life’s granite monolith rose wet with rain,
Alive, I take a pink, everlasting breath there,
After an end to scarlet plunge suffocates.
And, I flowingly put myself back together,
Again.

© poormansdreams

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