Where do they all fall?

My boiling blood told me they all fall, grow stark cold, then roll away, forgotten. Leaving behind a sweet serenade of stupor and the slow dwindling of memories. My boiling blood told me it would go cold turkey one day; simply stop warming my bones and flesh.Without warning. I know yet fear cold. I can’t escape cold, but then again, what can I escape?

At night, I hear flowing blood drumming in my ears, urging me to listen to the beating drum in my heart; a repetitive rhythm slowly coming to a stop.

In winter my blood boils hotter, to keep me safe. It’s effective. It cares for me, I think.

The landscape unravels like a fakir deploying his magical carpet and slowing floating toward the sky and off into the sunset. The clouds are pretty today. I didn’t quite like yesterday’s clouds. What will tomorrow’s be like? It’s, perhaps, not something people care for but, I do. I care, for clouds.

And, I care about where they all go when they fall. Those boiling fruits of blood.

8 thoughts on “Where do they all fall?

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  1. Wow! Issaaa!! I miss having a dose of your wit thru such awesome works like this one! This is a mixture of fear, comfort, confusion, inspiration and love rolled into perfection. Well done! I am honestly inlove with this writing style 😍 keep it up!

    Liked by 1 person

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