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B_LidPoems
I am trying to pick up a thin unforgiving object with my over-sized, disjointed creaking hands- again. Plastered smooth, flatly white and plain, sharply contrasting the oaken ornate table beneath. A pointed creation - filled from within by an impossibly pulled pin n' covered simply in slim thinly soft skin. I want to tear it off but my hands ache and cry out- soundless. Time hasn't meaning anymore, when you are gone and I am old. Twice folded around inside, the cocoon is layers of pressed arrested rough hewn life, wanton against my finger tips, that are bloated and gnarled with corroded bone all angles and absurdity. Aged pages will be riffled raw by my papery epidermis, squirming in earnest and fear of your leering senile words. I want to tear it off but it holds like glue And- as I remember, you are beautiful sold into sleep, bought in too deep with twitching, itching delicious skin, between golden strands that at times stand stiff with tension caught hot underneath our bodies. I choose not to remember as you are now alone in a crone crowded home.
0
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 1:35 AM UTC
Your Crucifying Absence.
I am trying to pick up a thin unforgiving object with my over-sized, disjointed creaking hands- again. Plastered smooth, flatly white and plain, sharply contrasting the oaken ornate table beneath. A pointed creation - filled from within by an impossibly pulled pin n' covered simply in slim thinly soft skin. I want to tear it off but my hands ache and cry out- soundless. Time hasn't meaning anymore, when you are gone and I am old. Twice folded around inside, the cocoon is layers of pressed arrested rough hewn life, wanton against my finger tips, that are bloated and gnarled with corroded bone all angles and absurdity. Aged pages will be riffled raw by my papery epidermis, squirming in earnest and fear of your leering senile words. I want to tear it off but it holds like glue And- as I remember, you are beautiful sold into sleep, bought in too deep with twitching, itching delicious skin, between golden strands that at times stand stiff with tension caught hot underneath our bodies. I choose not to remember as you are now alone in a crone crowded home.
B_Lid
Written by
B_Lid
American
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 1:35 AM UTC
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