overdone contrasts

it’s not necessarily original to mix bottom with top, highs with dirty lows

low lifes mingling with the oh so holy

angels full of holes



The Sirens wave me off

My craft of paranoia floats away

No paddle, just my wet arm

And a hurried fear.

Sail from the rocks, needle sharp sunset

Calls of good luck from pin-toothed mouths

Damp, dappled white- green hands wave me away

The same cold clamminess touches my brow

And the space beneath my boat is deeper than I could imagine.

Nausea pales my skin to grey

My mirrored face in the waves could so easily be one who’s changed their mind

My wet arm reflects, a slender hook to pull me beneath with a laugh.

via Daily Prompt: Sail