My skin always rejecting itself tiny open wounds, blemishes, holes to another world I’m full of them it’s chaos down there organized, but not understandable my mother always warned me said I don’t want scars and here I am pocked and marred, the relic of restless hands over an itchy strangers skin Advertisements
It came to me As if in a dream Moving swiftly Ever closer and I can’t close my eyes I’ve never felt this Far from the dawn I’m dreaming in shapes Closer to you They move me forward They push me And pull me I never came to Such a state as you Folding over […]
These are the good times, the high times. Honey balm on my heels, The serpents bite doesn’t sting so much, And I’m really trying not to get caught Up in pheromones and throaty moans, Because I can’t tell when I’m crying Out in ecstasy or pain. I’ve always Been wondering about all the death; I […]
This first poem, “Untitled”, is a revision of the same poem, which was posted in an earlier post titled A Taste of That Angst. I cut out lines that I thought were awkward or too personal–a problem that is often cited by critics. Let me know what you think. Does it enhance the feeling of the poem? […]
My depressionextends far and wide.Deep canyons andvast walls,opengorges fill withcold, dark watercoursing,widening,deepening–washing overold silt causingraw earth, revealinglayers on layers,colored and dull,sparkling fool’s gold,a stark depression in a lit up soul.