Untitled #23

In the dim light I can barely see
the porcelain white framing the red
The hand pierces the skin
with such a practised precision

Least you can be happy
that I’m making myself known
In the pitfalls of a sad retreat
there is never any escape

A curious gleam slashes the grey
but remains opaque as ever
I took it upon myself
to tear my livelihood apart

Least you can be happy
I’m sewn with little kisses of regret

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed