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barefoot-cascadesPoems
tuck my face behind the camera myself in the shadow of the corner colors slashed on paper fingers raw from the strings my eyes heavy lidded, I never knew that self-deception was such an art or that my inner critic was my greatest enemy embrace change? I always have Now my throat sighs and misses joy My limbs do not celebrate, they yell to me too quietly my brain runs the show It has run down the tracks This is sly flirtation with death stop talking I want to listen to the water and the trees, I am paralyzed here, fear for the future pathetic screams the monster pick myself apart at the seams something birdlike and cryptic but not beautiful
0
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
The monster is behind the show
tuck my face behind the camera myself in the shadow of the corner colors slashed on paper fingers raw from the strings my eyes heavy lidded, I never knew that self-deception was such an art or that my inner critic was my greatest enemy embrace change? I always have Now my throat sighs and misses joy My limbs do not celebrate, they yell to me too quietly my brain runs the show It has run down the tracks This is sly flirtation with death stop talking I want to listen to the water and the trees, I am paralyzed here, fear for the future pathetic screams the monster pick myself apart at the seams something birdlike and cryptic but not beautiful
barefoot-cascades
Written by
barefoot-cascades
American
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
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