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StrataicPoems
Sometimes-- I'm illness -Breeding pores, And 'yes' I can feel them. When I cut through skin- Searching for inner beauty --as I've lost mine- These fingers, Squelch over weaving's and wraps Inside- It's warm red here, Almost mulled wine evenings-- There's suppression on Your blink-less face In tearing lips, Yet-- You smile. As you feel my hands rummaging, Through-broken-ribs in 'Hopes' of stroking lungs- Only--breathless-slow-motion Memories occur. And instead I stab That precious heart with Unwarranted lonely, I'm breeding-on-the-mess I've made-- Staring-at-the-pieces, I'd been drinking-- A carcass of iridescent beauty.
0
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Cannibal Weaving
Sometimes-- I'm illness -Breeding pores, And 'yes' I can feel them. When I cut through skin- Searching for inner beauty --as I've lost mine- These fingers, Squelch over weaving's and wraps Inside- It's warm red here, Almost mulled wine evenings-- There's suppression on Your blink-less face In tearing lips, Yet-- You smile. As you feel my hands rummaging, Through-broken-ribs in 'Hopes' of stroking lungs- Only--breathless-slow-motion Memories occur. And instead I stab That precious heart with Unwarranted lonely, I'm breeding-on-the-mess I've made-- Staring-at-the-pieces, I'd been drinking-- A carcass of iridescent beauty.
Strataic
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Strataic
M
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
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