Dec 2012
little droplets
falling down
splashing at my feet
seconds count
a backwards march
never mine to keep
fascination
tries my patience
as my heart does weep
from little holes
punched in me
like a morbid need
colors flow
across my skin
permanence is real
because i am lost
please help me so
between the lines you read
i cry to you
my helpless voice
silent against the screams
society sews
my tender lips
aching for the speech
the one that slides
from my arms and back
like a paint bottle leak
pretty to those
ignorant
of the addicting plea
falling down
splashing at my feet
seconds count
a backwards march
never mine to keep
fascination
tries my patience
as my heart does weep
from little holes
punched in me
like a morbid need
colors flow
across my skin
permanence is real
because i am lost
please help me so
between the lines you read
i cry to you
my helpless voice
silent against the screams
society sews
my tender lips
aching for the speech
the one that slides
from my arms and back
like a paint bottle leak
pretty to those
ignorant
of the addicting plea
This poem is written in raw form without punctuation or capitalization. I purposely employ this style when I write about something of the emotional extreme. You may have previously seen a style similar to this from the great E. E. Cummings. I draw upon his genius for this particular poem because I see as he did: Words are a writer's medium just as paint is an artist's. Do with it what you will, and use them how you may.
