The Mind of a Poet

Do i make myself clear,
as the unscrambling of my mind

rolls off the tip of my tongue and falls from the edges of my lips.

As it plunges to the floor in the twisted beauty in which it came.

Vacant eyes wandering unable to construe the breath laid on strips of paper soaked in lacquer.

Attempting to reach the unfoldable contents of the soul, yet we can only get so far. 

These late night thoughts consume me

As I consume the left over remains in my coffee cup. 

Reviews

[anna.j]

I love the imagery here, it really draws pictures into the mind:
"As it plunges to the floor in the twisted beauty in which it came.
Vacant eyes wandering unable to construe the breath laid on strips of paper soaked in lacquer."
Very beautiful :)

[Jane Doe ~]

Thank you! Very much appreciated