Prose & Poetry by S. E. Emm

This body.

In the forests of my mind, this body runs. Oh, how it runs… It runs with ease. It runs with passion and grace. It canters with the wind, chasing fantasies along the trails surrounded by majestic cypress and spruce.

In the oceans of my mind, this body swims. Oh, how it swims… The waves caress its curves as it walks out into the deep. This body treads water, keeping its precious hope afloat. With arms wide open, it propels itself towards a future filled with sunbeams and peace.

But this body… The body that runs in the reveries of my mind, is not my body. My body does not run. My body survives in stillness as it watches the days pass by, waiting for the hands of time to carry it away to a better place. This body walks down the yellow broken brick road, only to find that it leads to where it began. An endless, tortuous loop.

But this body… The body that swims in the depths of my beautiful mind, is not my body. My body does not swim. My body does not fight against the current; it cannot keep its head above water. My body surrenders to the pulling of the tide, letting itself sink into the cold and numbing waters of despair.

Take me away to a place where mind meets matter, to a place where figments of imagination are so tangible, you can taste them on your tongue…

Take me away to the land of the enamoured evergreens…

I pray that the passionate surges of Neptune carry me to the deserted islands inside my soul.

Beneath.

His chemicals swim

upon the surface of her skin;

she longs for him to dive

into the depths of her within.

Her essence has seeped

into the marrow of his bones;

it pulls him underneath

like a satchel filled with stones.

Submerged beneath the spume,

entangled in their weeds of sin;

Only the sea will ever know,

where he ends and she begins.

The Brain Storm.

I lay impassioned

in the midst of a brain storm;

Lightening strikes,

illuminating the darkness around
me.

Insolent thoughts trickle down;

they seep into my permeable flesh.

With pen in mind,

I diffuse the surges within.

I am in the eye of the storm.

I inhale the magnetic mist,

and long for the tempest

to ravage me anew.

Pressed Petals.

I put my words to rest
in the archives of my mind;
they lay between
the pages of my memories,
like pressed petals
longing to be loved.
Their scent seeps out
from the pages;
notes of manic moonflower
and wistful wisteria
flood my head,
pollinating me
with thoughts of you.

Anoint Me.

The flames of Hell flicker in your eyes
as the devil dances in your grin.
Incinerate my righteousness;
Feast upon my skin.
Deliver me from this decency;
Anoint me with savoury sin.
Let my body be your abbey;
Worship me from deep within.

Smell of his skin.

Bliss of her ignorance.

The morning mist had filled her eyes with a vision, painted on this blurred canvas, morphing her imagination with reality.

Strokes of veracious delusions and deceptive truths…

She lingered in saturated uncertainty; intoxicated by the bliss of her ignorance.

Free fall.

Mouths meet at the eleventh hour, speaking into the muted tones of twilight.

Lips linger on the cusp of a breath, wavering between compulsion and reason.

Tongues trail the paths of moistened yearning, trembling with the release of pent up darkness…

A paralytic free fall.

Moonlight melting.

His words seeped into her skin

like moonlight melting

into the dead of night.

As they immersed themselves

into her bloodstream,

she could feel their warmth resuscitate

the starry vehemence inside her soul.

Angst.

Incensed ink runs through my veins;

Turning rampant blood to black.

Words emerge inside my brain;

But they seep down through the cracks.

Thoughts of rage like seething stains;

Pull me down onto the tracks.

Tears stream down to numb the pain,

But the angst keeps coming back.

Linear road.

Vacant fields of snow run alongside this cold and linear road, like frosted tears shed from desolate eyes.

Speeding through this polar vortex; chasing memories in time.

Surroundings blur and disappear; ears ring like rusted chimes.

Gravity, no more.

The moon stirs my slumber,

calling me to rise.

Its milky luster seeps

through the window pane,

moistening the curves of my body.

The midnight light dances upon my skin,

luring me into the cosmos.

Gravity, no more.

I am floating amongst the stars

as my fingers orbit the craters of this lunacy.

Overladen.

Whirlwind.

I find myself back amongst the flames; colours erupt from the inferno that surrounds me.

Deep blue moments of reflection arise.

A red raging passion consumes.

A lilac longing unravels.

Then comes black…

Black is the whirlwind; a turbulent affair between touch and time. A beautiful collection of fleeting moments which I hope are never retrieved for they have filled the forgotten void inside of me. They have become the kindling in my soul that keeps the burn alive.