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jacob-1Poems
Your heart is porcelain You cradle it in the darkness In the dust you run your fingers Against the edges searching desperately For cracks that appear Chastising yourself when one is found Filling the spaces with glue Hoping nothing will escape it Did you hear me knocking? Did you hear me walking up the stairs? *Creak Creak* Your bedroom door swings open You lie on the bed made up perfectly Running your fingers along The chambers and honeycomb connecting Tissue. The room dim lit and dust Ten million nerve endings connect and discharge on your skin where we touch Rushing armies of red blood cells swim to satiate the need in your brain For oxygen You recoil at my touch at first Understandable So I pull the brittle dust covered rocking chair From the corner I pull up the blind to let the yellow afternoon sun pour in Pupils adjusting from shadow You detest the warmth and brightness for a moment. Your eyes wide with fear as I sit in the old chair A strange statue I feel I have become Watching you Watching me I read to you From a dusty tome Full of English poetry "Would you come outside And play with me?"
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Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
Trinket
Your heart is porcelain You cradle it in the darkness In the dust you run your fingers Against the edges searching desperately For cracks that appear Chastising yourself when one is found Filling the spaces with glue Hoping nothing will escape it Did you hear me knocking? Did you hear me walking up the stairs? *Creak Creak* Your bedroom door swings open You lie on the bed made up perfectly Running your fingers along The chambers and honeycomb connecting Tissue. The room dim lit and dust Ten million nerve endings connect and discharge on your skin where we touch Rushing armies of red blood cells swim to satiate the need in your brain For oxygen You recoil at my touch at first Understandable So I pull the brittle dust covered rocking chair From the corner I pull up the blind to let the yellow afternoon sun pour in Pupils adjusting from shadow You detest the warmth and brightness for a moment. Your eyes wide with fear as I sit in the old chair A strange statue I feel I have become Watching you Watching me I read to you From a dusty tome Full of English poetry "Would you come outside And play with me?"
jacob-1
Written by
jacob-1
Equatorial Guinean
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
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