There are no images here.
I have stripped the walls
so that I sit in the dull
pearled opacity of clouds.
I burned my memories –
brief flaring bursts
of rainbow chemicals.
Even the ash has gone,
drifted out on
breezeless air. It isn’t
midnight – there are no stars –
or morning, or any time
I recognise. I am
anchorite contained by
emptiness, walls built
from the vacuum. I am
an empty pixel on
an empty screen.

For the garden over at Toads. We are invited to use imagery, to pile it on, for Fireblossom Friday. 



13 thoughts on “Unimagined

  1. There is something compelling to me about that anchorite’s cell–an extreme version of our isolation from each other, our attempt to dive deeper than the shallow ocean of ourselves, a symbol you’ve used exceptionally well here, describing a feeling that is both mystic and human, a scouring of the soul…excellent use of imagery throughout, and fine writing as well.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The images here describe the numbness of depression quite well. Depression isn’t so much the blues of sadness, but the leaching and emptying of all the familiar colors until you are whittled down to a void where color and purpose don’t exist. Really well done.

    Liked by 1 person

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