portraitinflesh

Poem time! Not that ist to terribly exciting, i cant wait untill i get torn into in class my my seriously f'd up prof..


These Precious Things

She put her fist through a window
the pane bled
she laughed and said:
I heard the dulcimer when I was dead

A butcher paper parcel blanketing blue veins
Like Nabokovs whore, she gets up from the floor
expressionless girl-child
I dont see you anymore

I remember that fright
made the scarring so bright
that they glittered and twirled in the dank kitchen light
You said we were alright
But try as you might
we could not fight
The terrible cotton night
The snow burning bite
Candy red exhale
our death in the cold carnal night.

that was my poem that took a night to get the mental erection to write !lol