I stitched
hands trembling
patch to patch
concealing your perfection
your fabric pricked
with each new stitch
an inverse of C-section
Each ***** at you
a stab at me
and trickles of red blood
adorned
visage of clotted dreams
the color of dried mud
Patch after patch
meticulously
fragmentally I forgot
aware that there’s no other way
full of dismay
full of regret
A grim artwork
you stood and smirked
your scarred and awful smile
a bride of snide
spread far and wide
a dusty, mangled guise of guile
I covered
this textile Frankenstein
this fractured made a whole
covered myself with you
and mumbled
a prayer to rest
my tattered soul
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
I stitched
hands trembling
patch to patch
concealing your perfection
your fabric pricked
with each new stitch
an inverse of C-section
Each ***** at you
a stab at me
and trickles of red blood
adorned
visage of clotted dreams
the color of dried mud
Patch after patch
meticulously
fragmentally I forgot
aware that there’s no other way
full of dismay
full of regret
A grim artwork
you stood and smirked
your scarred and awful smile
a bride of snide
spread far and wide
a dusty, mangled guise of guile
I covered
this textile Frankenstein
this fractured made a whole
covered myself with you
and mumbled
a prayer to rest
my tattered soul
A prime example of 'lost in translation'. This piece went to a completely different direction, and is now, technically, a new poem.