or something like that—
something always out of reach,
something I cannot grasp desperate
with my hands—
the open flame, maybe?
taunting, bright,
flickering, flickering, flickering.
or the undercurrent of the river?
dragging me down,
letting the water wrinkle my skin
like every forgotten love letter
crumpled up in a landfill somewhere.
are you the wolf in the closet?
the secret, the danger,
what the body longs to become.
the crack in the temple floor?
unholy and defiant,
always whispering
i’m here, i’m here,
nothing stays pure forever.
Emily Palermo, Metaphors and the Like (via mythaelogy)
(via beholdingslut)
TAGS: #words,
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