I can’t find the words, though I feel them
Lurching around my chest like ships in a storm,
Bouncing off my ribs and
Scraping my throat with their masts.
Eighteen years in a paper skin,
An insubstantial prison, a swathe,
Drawing black rings around my eyes
And wearing **** like a badge of honour.
I’ve been eroded all my life
Washed away by winds and whispers, reduced
To this transparent skeleton,
Heavy with this rotting chameleon flesh.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 6:53 PM UTC
I can’t find the words, though I feel them
Lurching around my chest like ships in a storm,
Bouncing off my ribs and
Scraping my throat with their masts.
Eighteen years in a paper skin,
An insubstantial prison, a swathe,
Drawing black rings around my eyes
And wearing **** like a badge of honour.
I’ve been eroded all my life
Washed away by winds and whispers, reduced
To this transparent skeleton,
Heavy with this rotting chameleon flesh.