They lowered him on string,
his face unshaved and the coffin unhinged,
nothing broke his fall but a green cloth dressed in
storage-cupboard-fluff,
the first death of the second month.
Around him they said silent words, empty sentences
stretching the length of derelict paragraphs: morbid monologues
for the man who used words to **** up women
and tell them they were beautiful without them ever seeing it,
understanding it,
knowing if he was legit or not.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
They lowered him on string,
his face unshaved and the coffin unhinged,
nothing broke his fall but a green cloth dressed in
storage-cupboard-fluff,
the first death of the second month.
Around him they said silent words, empty sentences
stretching the length of derelict paragraphs: morbid monologues
for the man who used words to **** up women
and tell them they were beautiful without them ever seeing it,
understanding it,
knowing if he was legit or not.
from coffeeshoppoems.com >> home of brutally honest poems
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