daunting (2)
I think my current favourite word is daunting.
It’s short, sweet, and beautiful in a way that calls for attention and shapes the future in imposing ways. It calls on the universe and fate to play their hand.
Daunting is liquor coloured walls, marooned inhibitions, and burning ceilings calling for more, more, more.
Daunting is the colour of wretched impartiality. An uncertainty that coats smokes-darkened lungs and fractures states of mind. It graples on an insecurity and tugs at it until wisps of poison drip, drip, drip, drop.
I feel as though I am deteriorating. I waste away, wretched, crying, and everything seems so hauntingly unreachable.
Daunting, I hope is temporary, to break free of prisons of nimble skin, succulent shades of purple sin.
Daunting scares me, it insinuates solutions, instead of the pollutants that I let dictate my motions.