I unwrap myself from the red linen shroud
And head towards the wavering closet.
Today the skeleton seems less proud,
Stupefied, only relatively.
Sometimes I take it out and waltz with it,
It seems the right thing to do.
Sometimes I carry it on my friendly shoulders,
Hoping its rage would undo.
Then there are times when I shun it away
To acknowledge its inexistence.
And veiling myself with the shroud, I stay
Till I am disrupted by the rattling of bones
Walking back towards my bed,
I lie down, crying still
With the skeleton at my elbow,
It’s a story of me I want to ****
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
I unwrap myself from the red linen shroud
And head towards the wavering closet.
Today the skeleton seems less proud,
Stupefied, only relatively.
Sometimes I take it out and waltz with it,
It seems the right thing to do.
Sometimes I carry it on my friendly shoulders,
Hoping its rage would undo.
Then there are times when I shun it away
To acknowledge its inexistence.
And veiling myself with the shroud, I stay
Till I am disrupted by the rattling of bones
Walking back towards my bed,
I lie down, crying still
With the skeleton at my elbow,
It’s a story of me I want to ****
