Chaos In Glass

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 04, 2016

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Submitted: October 04, 2016



Chaos In Glass


The glass from which I’m made from is fragile to extreme,

so thin and oh, so brittle, not strong enough it seems;


to hold on to the chaos that is building up inside,

emotionally volatile, where turbulence resides.


The waves are swirling all around, upside down and inside out.

My feelings are sure in a mess, all clouded up with doubt.


Pitch black strands of sticky tar drip from way up high

to land in melting misery extinguished with a sigh.


Green tendrils tangle viciously, their thorns praying for blood,

a mass of writhing jealousy, malevolence in flood.


The bitten-back shards of anger streak in crimson red,

and indigo will spatter out, explosive thoughts of dread.


The yellow here is not of sun but is of a sickly hue

of venomous cowardice that paralyses when it comes to you.


The blue is one of icy breath, an agent for frost-bite,

it will reach out to your heart and freeze it, not ignite;


no passion resides in this chaos so beware of where you tread,

don’t let this lethal cocktail bring you to be misled.


The turbulence is buried deep, contained within my heart,

just hope that it is kept there and to seep it does not start;


for if there is just a tiny leak of a chemical so acidly strong

the contamination will begin and to spread, it won’t take long.



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