Josilinia Plyman

We are parenthetical
The outside matters not
We are isolated
From the building doubt
...

A woman does not melt
into sight from the rain.
A woman is born
in the rush of the flood.
...

cause now you're my morning glories.
my old wheels whirring.
and the young taste of
domestic beer burning.
...

You're the morphine shot.
You are my own personal high.
You call yourself comfort,
my doctor calls it euthanize.
...

My mothers voice echoed Aristotle
warning me of the pleasure of harms;
and you are my incontinence.
Purposeful ignorance of blaring alarms.
...

Your eyes won’t meet mine
When I tell you
That I love you
Your hands won’t reach mine
...

Eyes set ahead,
hands to myself.
Why am I here?
Standing in filth.
...

I drowned.
Tides came in and lapped at my toes,
until finally they convinced me
to join the waves,
...

...

I know this isn't smart
Everyone has told me so
But I cant make myself
Leave and let go
...