Breaking in, not breaking free,
The chapstick
Chafing the wax dome down
With my sandpaper lips
Until it becomes like the mold of my teeth
The dentist keeps for me.
The chapstick is too waxy for my taste
But I'll wear it down to what I want
By wearing it on my sandpaper lips to
Hide what's behind them,
No teeth
Just negative,
Empty
Space.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Breaking in, not breaking free,
The chapstick
Chafing the wax dome down
With my sandpaper lips
Until it becomes like the mold of my teeth
The dentist keeps for me.
The chapstick is too waxy for my taste
But I'll wear it down to what I want
By wearing it on my sandpaper lips to
Hide what's behind them,
No teeth
Just negative,
Empty
Space.
Request permission to use this poem