Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
bionic-womanPoems
I feel like my heart is grotesquely punctured, Punctured and bleeding, because you haunt me at night, I feel like my pillow is weightless and transient, Weightless and transient from years spent in flight. I feel like my knuckles are bruised and bloodied, Bruised and bloodied from fighting off the image of your face, I feel like my body is weak and tired, Weak and tired, trying to win this race. I feel like this poem is futile and ****** Futile and ****** as I attempt to forget for the millionth time, I feel like a prisoner—No way in, no way out, No way in, no way out, but I committed no crime. I feel like our pictures are worn and faded, Worn and Faded, because I stare at them too much, I feel like my soul is seized and beleaguered, Seized and beleaguered, because it misses your touch. I feel like my mirror is false and distorted, False and distorted, because somehow I look whole, I feel like my heart is grotesquely punctured, Punctured and bleeding, my ghost—that’s your role.
0
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Ghost
I feel like my heart is grotesquely punctured, Punctured and bleeding, because you haunt me at night, I feel like my pillow is weightless and transient, Weightless and transient from years spent in flight. I feel like my knuckles are bruised and bloodied, Bruised and bloodied from fighting off the image of your face, I feel like my body is weak and tired, Weak and tired, trying to win this race. I feel like this poem is futile and ****** Futile and ****** as I attempt to forget for the millionth time, I feel like a prisoner—No way in, no way out, No way in, no way out, but I committed no crime. I feel like our pictures are worn and faded, Worn and Faded, because I stare at them too much, I feel like my soul is seized and beleaguered, Seized and beleaguered, because it misses your touch. I feel like my mirror is false and distorted, False and distorted, because somehow I look whole, I feel like my heart is grotesquely punctured, Punctured and bleeding, my ghost—that’s your role.
bionic-woman
Written by
bionic-woman
American
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem