I guess,
The world that burst forth
From my tender red womb
Is maniacally clawing
To get back inside,
Now,
Or am I pulling it by
It's tangled hairs?
Afterall,
I am flustered
With it wrenching
The brush from my hand,
Each time I reach out
To unravel the mess
It's made,
(Or, I made?)
Either way,
I'll let bygones be bygones,
Even if it means
Being carried away -
Lost in sterilized hair strands,
Sleeping wordlessly,
Amid
Insanely white teeth.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
I guess,
The world that burst forth
From my tender red womb
Is maniacally clawing
To get back inside,
Now,
Or am I pulling it by
It's tangled hairs?
Afterall,
I am flustered
With it wrenching
The brush from my hand,
Each time I reach out
To unravel the mess
It's made,
(Or, I made?)
Either way,
I'll let bygones be bygones,
Even if it means
Being carried away -
Lost in sterilized hair strands,
Sleeping wordlessly,
Amid
Insanely white teeth.
Apparently, this piece has been a riddle for some...so, I'll leave it one!
Clue, however, it is "not" about my nonexistent child.
Ha
© 2011 Elephants & Coyotes
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