What about the skeletons? The wounded ghosts.
Ghosts of feelings, of remnants of meaning. Spinning around and around , I can’t go into any room. So I sit, on the floor, in the hallway, small. If I shrink myself will the feelings reconcile for me?
Can someone take this over? I’m so tired. The furniture is pointed, catching my sleeves. I can’t look, because it isn’t mine. It’s capsules in time.
Suspended. Whispers of words, of moments, feelings, memories, fading, slowly. Apparitions.
My heart is also a kaleidoscope, infinitely shapeshifting, collapsing and expanding. Labyrinth.
submitted by /u/halcyondigestthrow
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