mardi, janvier 17, 2012

The gash

She does not see me bleed

The red pour warm inside

Leave invisible tracks across my pale flesh

The heart inside quails

As though I had been struck

And struck again.

She does not watch as I cry out

Helpless again

Hours months years piled up

Stone upon slippery stone

A friend advises

A father chastises

When I express the words that sometimes accompany

The agony of sinking.

But she does not look

Intent on spinning the careless web

Of her future

Like droplets of water

Thrown up from the ocean

Against a darkening sky

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