Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 18
A silver lake.
Slake and slough and
you think
that this will surely
make you clean.
But you thought the same thing
about the tall fields of grass
that sliced your skin
in microscopic ribbons,
and made your shins itch.
What now?
Now that you have frost
coating every hair
of every crevice?
Is this purity?
Is this what you’re craving
endlessly?
Written by
Micaela B Cloutier  25/F/Olympia, WA
(25/F/Olympia, WA)   
107
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems