"contusions" poems
•
i'm
careening
and crashing
into invisible walls•
the bumps and contusions
on my head
i rub• seem
trapped, i'm
crying over
my trips and
falls• stuck
in limbo, not
knowing.......
which way is
...UP•
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
I am a sculpture
Of life' beautiful scars
Frightening when viewed too close
Perhaps better glimpsed at from afar
Twisting wounds
Healed over scratches
The heart entombed by loves hand
Blood covered latches
Oh masterpiece
Of intentional cuts and scrapes
Purple raised blue bruises
Hidden carefully from the world
I employ delicate spiderweb curtains
And my sleight of hand illusion's
It is only the bearer who understands
Where the deepest wounds are hidden
Bitter tears in a deep bottomless chasm
The unforgettable kiss of affections contusions
These shadows must never be loosened
Forever restrained even by deception
Guarded by spiderweb curtains
And sleight of hand illusion's
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M. Darby Jan.13, 2013
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
promenades the sleepless night through my, like rain, palm;
tears, counting, marble-toward drops
i am to nothing degenerated,
pirating surrealism.
with my contusions, awareness-lacked, tramples
brought to the temple, rotoscoped, liquidates
from the core, curdled blood.
clouds, sickness with apathy, the air
made balcony on, flesh-spoken, impassioned.
i, the night, erotize
begin their flock, sursum corda!
tremble, i, and scrape the tower before me
pulverization may lead to immunization, where i
melt as sulfur in
Midas’s clasp.
i walked his tread, years on end, scoped out
miserable, fragmented, at startwith:
he touched my arm
and to precious
metals, pitchfork incubated, i arose
fashioned his pedestal, glamored in steps, appraised biased
no represent sources, ideal inertia, this primal adoration
slips of drillpressed kisses
caught off guard.
in the tufts, my mortal : remember, i, of parquet deeply hidden;
i am of a world, peace, cast : however,
deeply
lachrymogenic
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
My country does not believe in equality.
It buys excuses for elitism and misogyny.
It covers up its greed and its brutality
And makes up ugly labels for decency.
My country sings its songs about freedom
But often denies it to those who need some.
It celebrates our heritage with beer and ***
And marches to the beat of a fascist drum.
My country was founded by nice words
Some of the finest man has ever heard.
Then shows the intelligence of a cattle herd;
And the social conscience of rotted bean curd.
My country labors under some illusions
That contribute to a national delusion
That fame will ultimately cure all contusions
And eradicate the effects of collusion.
My country thinks pretty people are sacrosanct
So, they let the beautiful load up their piggy bank.
We see reverence for the most egregious crank,
And have many of our countrymen to thank.
My country isn’t very good at followup.
It adopted the behavior of an untrained pup.
As long as it has its favorite pablum to sup
It will drink any poison that’s in their cup.
My country is this way, has been for too long
And if you disagree with the words of my song
Write your own treatise to try to prove me wrong.
For now I will keep on banging this protest gong.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset,
joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember,
and melancholy would be just another shade of blue.
i told him,
i am not done with you yet.
three weeks post breakup,
we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do.
like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i,
the author got up one day,
scribbled a quick ending,
and then set the novel on fire.
i read an article in an obscure magazine
about Shelley Jackson,
an artist
who got thousands of people
to tattoo a singular word
from a story onto themselves,
and then sent them back to their scattered existences.
maybe that is what this is,
another scattered story.
another vaporized narrative.
i can feel it in the air,
but not pull the phrases together.
it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my ribcage would look like a Jackson *******
my head would be a paintball arena.
i am so full of indigos,
and mustards,
and crimsons,
that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette
and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before.
*i don't know if it hurts because it still matters,
or if it matters that it still hurts.*
i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut.
i am not a painter,
but my mirror is showing me
the immaculate collection of brushstrokes
i have become.
a few weeks ago,
i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises.
to collect my contusions with watercolors.
what a beautiful intention,
to immortalize the growing pains,
memorialize the bumps along the way,
to make something permanent
of these perpetual transitions.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch,
courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete,
and love?
love would be prismatic,
like spilled oil on asphalt.
a rainbow one moment,
vanished the next.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.
One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.
Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.
Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.
Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?
Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…
Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.
The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 10:14 PM UTC
Can you tell me have I lost my mind?
Seeking other lonely to be my guide.
Streetlight prophets have all your answers for a price
Turning all your coppers into fortified signs.
I keep on dreaming of you and of you only
Speaking your name as though it's something I hold holy
But can you tell me does the sky get lonely
.. Siting all alone up there
Sing me songs of love and revolution
In a rage of fury and absolution
The alley oracles keep searching for solutions
To find fortune in hearts weakened by contusions.
They sing...
Find me love sweet like sacramental wine
For my penance I'd pay any price
Give me strength to pursue my paradise
And the wisdom when I find it to recognize
That the only thing missing in my life
Was someone to walk beside.
They sing...
Can you tell us have we lost our minds
Seeking other lonely to be our guides
To navigate and hide us in the streetlights
As we lay awake looking for a sign.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg
So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!
Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.
Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said **** and drank the dregs.
It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!
Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
M.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Broken heartbeats feel like broken bones.
This soul stripped bare, so naked and alone.
High hopes turned into severed ropes...
Severed ties, bad excuses, and alibis.
Massive contusions and mass confusion...
You're a walking weapon of mass destruction...
A master of illusion.
Intrusion.
Delusion.
Deception.
And so this soul stripped bare,
so naked and alone still sleeps solo.
And for now, I'm ok with that.
Because sometimes broken heartbeats feel like broken bones.
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 10:58 PM UTC
we all love in our own way, in the way we can. sometimes that love is loud and bright and WOW WOW WOW. but sometimes its not. its quiet like making that drive. like looking me straight in the eyes. like giving you the left earbud. like mwah mwah let me kiss your neck. and on the days i don’t feel like sinking, i know i should love you better. like stop running. stop your tears. stop your lies. sometimes it'll tell its own lies, the best lies you've ever heard. it loves like contusions and strained voices. like bahama mama blues and my vampire eyes. love like the first time I saw you cry. like a Sunday afternoon, Tuesday night, or Friday morning. love like we have the answers. or maybe we don’t. i mean an unconventional love is better than no love at all.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
ya well
it's fiery hell
not living well
right at home
buried bones
torture
de joured
some fine imaginings
of the most clever
scorns
right on
it serves me swells
all i need is here well
mountains move
uncovered veils
holy grails
deep wells
forever winds
love captions
hearts sing
fuller sails
what you see
the delusions
contusions
devastating confusions
freely came
and leave their
tracement as scape sets
behind and glorious
stories
are just as free
no longer welcomed
as the lie
as aberrance
malevolent bees
upsettings trees
have left already
with refreshments
and mints being roses
the windy holy
way of love
as breezes
readily come
as kisses
to hearts toes and noses
cheaper illusions
have other preferences here
then just as free
readily go
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
wooing/seducing: the where of the first kiss always
~for Robin Carretti, who loved it best~
‘tis true my battlefield tactical brought me
many victories
when that was fool-desired
no chain mail, walled armaments, arms crossing,
all failed
to the single softest siege engine in my possession
and the passing passionately poems read
back ‘n forth, non-negotiable demands,
vicious but viscous
red lines,
day remainders of the contusions of night's angry passions
and the
disputed but muted disparities of both
nothing, no, never broke the spell of:
the first kiss, always upon the neck
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
You say freedom of speech
But not for me as things be
I breath heavy with scenes
See things as a minority
As a young Latino male
I see lots of myself in jail
Traps are set and on sell
Equal blood color is spilled
Martial law across the hall
Racial wars coming along
Rest in peace to Trayvon
Another young man gone
Contributions are all illusions
Spreading through confusion
Relations between contusions
Love for those who abuse them
One of my best friends is black
One of my best friends is white
One of my friends is masculine
One of my friends is feminine
One of which was a criminal
One of which was a clinical
Both of my friends are humans
Finding out life is so typical
Two of my jewels were blue
Two of my girls shared hue
Two of my schools loved me
Two of my enemies cut me
Two of my mothers cried
Two of my brothers died
Both of which had big futures
Before hate took their lives
Three of my peers are my equal
Three of my peers make new evil
Three of my tears stained the paper
Three of my years were endangered
Three of my hearts broke in time
Three of my guardians declined
All three rose up against me
And began to belittle my mind
Replies depend on the victims
And the symptoms felt in them
To fight back or stop living
To keep going or be bed ridden
Is the valley to deep to dip in
Are the times increasing division
Humans beings have hurt vision
Blind to a philosophy holistic
The clocks are going tic tic
I've been called a young ****
My friends ancestry exist
My friends ignorance is bliss
He holds onto passive racism
He doesn't notice the shifting
He says, "I have black friends
But... ," Just to avoid friction
So you say freedoms of speech
But you don't really know me
As a majority with a minority
How can you experience things
That your culture brought to me
Left my people ***** and hurting
And I'm not from genes of slavery
So think before you speak.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
I got a bad feeling about this.
Will I have to take a step back to take a step forward?
It's all so redundant.
I'm losing all sense of control, things are just spiraling down before my very eyes.
Moving out of the darkness, into the shadows of the past.
Trading one dark place for another.
No place to go.
People are fading away.
There are no simple solutions, just mindless delusions.
Lost in my confusions.
My heart is full of invisible contusions.
You can't see, my pain strapped away inside.
Sometimes I wonder, how many times do I lie?
To speak the truth, I have to say I'm a bit shy.
Though your ears I can't penetrate.
Inside, my heart grows cold and full of hate.
It's all in vain.
I've been lost in this bloodstain.
I just can't get over it.
That loss of life inside me.
This pain, that you refuse to see.
Maybe I'm just acidic, and each day this darkness grows unhindered,
a poison of bitterness and sorrow.
I just can't continue to trust that there is always tomorrow.
I'm vexed and forgotten, left here sullen and rotten.
I'm absolutely terrified that I'm losing myself and this other entity is taking control,
I'm no longer whole.
My soul is no longer my soul.
All I need is you to help me, but in reality you're no longer there.
It's just not fair.
This bleeding heart was mine to share.
But you are no longer there.
Stitch it up in solemn silence.
Alone, I'll find my peace of mind.
Alone, I may grow unkind...
All by myself to myself to find.
I just can't bare to leave you behind.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
i tried forgetting you so hard
my liver's collapsing
& i've got these bruises & cuts -
contusions & concussions -
from my aggravation, concentrated
on the wrong people in crowded places
but we all need ventilation.
so i spilled out abuse
on whoever was willing to take it,
combining fists with faces -
call it distraction or entertainment,
whichever way you phrase it,
i won't remember...i was wasted -
i was swimming in liquid sentiments
the backstroke of the blind
as i'm blacking out my mind,
turning off the lights
on the portion of my life
you partially defined.
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC
Take your pills, go to therapy,
Take your pills. go to therapy
“get better”
Take your pills, go to therapy,
Tell yourself you’re getting better
“You’re getting sick again ariana, we will raise your dose”
Take your pills, go to therapy
“Am i getting any better, am i healthier? do i look sick?”
Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy
“Why are you doing this to yourself Ariana?”
Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy
help
“how do i get the maggot thoughts that crawl into my head and tell me i’m inadequate, trifling?”
“It’s all circumstantial, and that is what we need to mend and patch”
Give me your mental diagnosis-diagnonsense
Go ahead, tell me what you’ve espied when you sat oneself down and perched your virtuoso intellect in my head
“oh yes, you comprehend
you understand
Everything.
You know me deeper than i know my self”
“We are getting somewhere, we are moving forward you are progressing!”
Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy
You must be pleased as punch you’re finally fixing me
dismally i disinform you, i lied
Why you may inquire? Not one can understand ones speculations or thoughts unless they are legitimately situated in my chamber of a lugubrious trench filled with distasteful maggots which leave dolorous contusions-bruises and thoughts that leave me questioning reality, questioning my essence, questioning myself
Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy
If i were in deed reviving from the sorrow i would no longer have these god awful scars and bruises
You can’t tell me i am not out of ones tree
when
you
scarcely
know
me
At times I’m not sure if i even know me___________________________________________________________________________
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
handrail, wall, ceiling, stair
tumbled down the whole flight
by mistaking the door
for the staircase as the door
for the bathroom
as doom loomed near
nothing had been more clear
I've been falling down stairs
my whole life
bruising, aquiring contusions,
bleeding, clotting, bones snapping,
regrowing,
I'll be okay, I'll be okay
if I can just manage to crawl
back up to the party
to the... party
to the...
to...
blackout
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
E v
e
r
y
so often I
like to think back on
that greasy summer- my hidden
lover. Teeth ripping into me like they
were devouring a sticky peach on a patio
near the beach; hungry and so full of desire.
Early eyes quivered as I suffered your satisfied
fingers on my thigh- feeling the contusions that
replaced my pale pink skin. A felt existence left
devoted in moments like these-our compulsive
wrappings conceal the fortunes that can be
found only in one another. In a way, this
biblical dimension carries a perpetual
forgiveness and passion that play
together hand in hand.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
And so I have lost you, and I have lost you fairly
Yet we gained a piece of each other
The end, those honest hours shared
A glimpse, a touch, a taste, of a temporary reality
A beautiful thing, made more precious by impermanence
Yet, something that we felt, since that first time
How can it be explained,
Chemistry paints too primitive a picture
To occupy, so much of the other,
When circumstance and situation should not have allowed
Existing on borrowed time,
As we found new ways to give time contusions
Almost always effortless despite obstacles, and stretched ethics
All or nothing, is everything anyone deserves
In our all, we may have found everything
Nothing is fairer, than something
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
A chestnut falls from a chestnut tree. It falls onto the chest or knee of the free.
Please, awaken to the sight for sore eyes. Sounds nice! Beautiful chesty women all around in the night.
Quite the light we got lit for our cigarette. Yet, the Winchester's barrel, bangs a different drum-set.
Best we forget the fright.
Master the art of illusions. Assuming delusions that give birth to contusions.
So, this poem is cheesy, cause Chester the Cheetah thinks so? Do YOU know?
Blow it.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
losing you and it's effortless
redefining short and sweet,
a whiskey neat,
eight years, much shorter than the forever,
everyone's grand assumption feast,
wrongly assumed, love consumed,
making ***** of her and me
for believing,
and looking now,
as if it's almost
our own closing time,
the hour of our
just desserts
you lose yourself, asking yourself,
can a three legged stools
with two busted legs be
just merely rocky,
without another hand on the tiller~shoulder,
something
with haunting visions
of falling, failing, flailing,
down the stairs
victim of a stoning, or just ******
gravity, the Blackhawk down,
the string puller, the no-reason reason
the slow descent,
so effortless, glassine smooth at first,
barely noticed, shrugged away like a small bruise,
then you cannot help to stop and forgive the incessant
wondering of how we got,
the confusion contusions,
now body bejeweled resplendent,
everywhere, in everything
you were once
a rock, a star,
with all the answers to the questions
she was about to ask,
your arm punched,
attached to an affectionate smiling,
for the perfection of our mutuality of
knowing
was her rock,
and now, quietly,
this last piece of jewelry consists of
a necklace of stones,
a choker of
glass pebbles in both our mouths
wry cry
realizing that the
darkness cracks of
busted and rusted,
are voluminous surround sound silences
breaking up,
either side of
us
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Because of you, everything I touch,
Bleeds and turns to dust
I want to **** you first,
Because a broken blade singes, feels good with a ******
Against my wrist.
Your German tongue, I can't bare
Not a single word without a snare
Your Aryan sly,
Your black gutted soul.
Go away, I say
Go away,
You come as swiftly as you stay,
You bruited, withered man
I tried to burry you in the sand
With the Pacific ocean, we found sacred
Ah, to crush your brittle skull with my fair hands
The empty vessel that lies,
My brother's fears, my mother's tears
My sister's sorrow
Her disposition that fallows
Go away, I say
Go away, you shadow of a man
Your skin is already cankered
Your hair thin and gray
Spitting tobacco out the window
Passing by your old church
Your God you hold so sacred,
Hates what he sees naked.
How ironic,
As you fill your stomach, with gin and tonics
Your only son, drenched in your malice
His confused identity, at your callus
Your worst fear, your biggest secret
I see what you left behind, in his tender cries
Your drunk is merely a symptom.
My mother's wisdom
Trying to gather strength to circulate the essence
Of her household kingdom,
Yet, destroyed at the presence
You left her, pavement scratched.
Busted blood vessels, continuous contusions
Led to the comfort of capsules
Trying to mend the thrash
Laying in front of her children on the hard, wooden floors
You demon of destruction
With death in your demise,
How your lover's family feels
As you dragged her heals
Into her watery grave
For you, it's not a worry; you think your God will save
Now it is time.
Take your pride,
The evil you hide.
As your golden ticket to hell
Alas, you’re dead
No fragmented memories shrouding my brain
No more drugs, no more pain
FREE, of the demented ways
I am the murderer now
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
Black butterfly, how is your day?
Soaring peacefully throughout the waves
Crashing down with a certain multitude
It seems as you haven’t flown much today
I’m just wondering...
Are you okay?
Black butterfly look at your wing
Injured by HURT and PAIN
Unintentionally leaving contusions
Leaving the tears to heal your wing
Black butterfly
For better or worse
You still push through the storm
It’s not as clear out
As it was yesterday
How does your heart feel now?
Those clouds don’t seem so dark
Your warmth has melted the sun
No fighting anymore
Black butterfly
Where does love come from?
From the unknown
From the one who’s been through the most
Leaving every beat of your heart
In beat with your beat
Black butterfly
There’s your smile
Lightening up the fallen one
Words spoken
Without hearing a mumbling word
Yet understood
Black butterfly
Allow me to be here
Watching you as you heal
Throbbing inside me
Reaching for the ultimate thrill
Timeout the world
Punishment upon many years
Flying high
Seeking peace on your broken wing
Healing of love
Soothing to a joyous ring
Black butterfly
How high did you soar?
Did you see where heaven and earth meets?
Did you see some worth believing?
Royalty built with loyalty
Sitting on your wealth of trust
Did you meet the one that completes?
The one that mended your broken wing?
Did it hurt?
For them to see?
That life is just as fragile as it can be?
How broken was their wing?
Nice look
I now truly see
Black butterfly
It all became as one?
Realizing you have met your sun
The one who you save as the one
You are better now
Free and loved
Black butterfly
My one and only true dove
The light in my eye
Black butterfly don’t cry
For those tears don’t belong in your eyes
I’m forever to stay
Free and calm
Just like when you fly
In the blue and relaxing sky
home my black butterfly
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
**** my conscious; bleeding thin as flesh.
I never dare to speak in desperate conditions.
Measured breaths and well timed semi-sweet slurs
aren't saying much at all and only lead to terms of
casuistry that slumber, unperturbed, between lips
ever unchanging from their lifeless arrangement.
I dream only to refresh my disenchanted view.
Nervous eye contact will bring me to my knees,
where I tend to contusions and seared wounds.
This is happiness at close. It sounds the same
as the attention-starved ***** calling for a
photo and then dying bit-by-bit at the flash.
I've overdrawn this only to scratch it out
and reassure myself I will acquiesce,
steadfast to the fashion of your diagnosis.
I was always second guessing the way this should go.
So when it boils down to nicotine soaked lungs,
just to burrow through this weekend, I'll be dead
on arrival from induced excuses, tailored to your
every solace.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Eyelids of contusions smudged with bones
Winter waves grip my stripped wrists
A graceless waltz, stumbling, flailing
Strings of a marionette, gnawed by unbending stars
Trapeze walking through dizzying hills
Graffiti on my heart disfigures
Unyielding, plunging knives into memories
My hearts compass spins wildly
No direction, blindly traipsing in circles
Gazing through windowpanes of steel
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC