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RMatheson
Poems
Sep 2015
You Are a Ghost and You Are Killing Me
All my apologies, worthless.
All my ego, a *****.
I spend the days peddling my wares through binary,
relapsing into the folded paper daisy chains of atom bombs.
My stomach is a pit of ice;
it winds its way into growth, cold fungus,
clutches my chest like a mastectomy of tar.
I've only had zero peace.
The birds I watch, the scars they show,
leave me stumbling over their hollow little bones,
like the words I try to say to you.
Written by
RMatheson
Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)
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