Paternal mountains holding
knees as I a brook
laugh and gurgle
without stopping.
Crown sliding
off tousled hair
I cry at broken
dolls that make me sad
and get presents
smelling faintly of
sticky, warm Azaleas.
I groan.
I moan as I tear small ivory chunks with sickening thuds,
l grasp the pulsating pulp.
With lower lashes, I offer
to the ravenous fire that consumes in its unquenchable desire that destroys and laughs, that baits me to bark.
Ah! Look at the night
dressed up like a *****.
No is three letters, yes is two.
Every man a tattoo artist branding his initials for free.
Tell me, does purple look striking against melanin attire?
I get paper cuts
from words slicing off penetrating tongues
and I scream, muffled inside a dream.
Groping at flecks of sandy sunshine, waiting to be
Exhumed.
One of my personal favorites :)