| Current location: | Cordes |
| Current mood: |  tired |
| Current music: | CNN |
| Entry tags: | poetry |
88-92/100
88 - She sleeps in anger
Too many low slung blows have caressed my flesh,
slights too slight to rouse the serpent from her hot
sun summer repose. Gnats and flies and myriad crawling
life abuse my skin. Noticed and remembered,
all below the action threshold, she sleeps,
lazing the hazy days with an inward smile,
tonight is her turn to bite.
89 - nothing but time
I crawl on shattered knees, crushed
on impact, tendons severed, flesh torn.
My way is clouded by hair hanging
down into the dust, tangled with scrub
and brush. Sight fails behind grime-
rimmed eyes, kohl black with tears
that wash nothing away, but time.
90 - Blown away
The moment is lost in the winds of desire
maelstrom; the evil whirlpool has swept
everything away but your titanic force of will.
Remorse, reflection, even my hard-won sense
of self, flushed away in rip-tides and wind-driven
salty spray that etches you into my soul, tattooing
my flesh with a thousand deep caresses that morph
my thoughts and dreams into a mermaid's siren call
to be at one with the sea and find myself fathoms down
in your stormy waters.
Broken hearts. Broken bones. Broken hope and dreams.
I see all this in your eyes when you look at me.
Wasteful days and wasteful nights, wasted empty life.
A forced smile painted to hide nightmare dreams.
Tears of sorrow. Tears of pain. Tears for lies and memories.
The future is a smileless past played out again,
and again I want to save you from yourself.
I want to take you away. I want to start you fresh again,
help you find your way. But you won't listen when I call,
or see me when I stare, still lost inside your anger, and despair.
Call to me my lovely. Strike me when you hurt.
Drag me down into your hole and wallow in the dirt.
I am beyond words of shame, scorn or praise.
91 - Doubt
Taking everything but my pride
in a maudlin twist of fate forsaken
by what I'd thought to forsake.
Ripped and shrouded, broken and abused,
body and soul are reduced to a cold burning
embrace, feral and self-contained, writing
in blood every moment, every day, every step
from the instance when humanity
was no longer an option.
92 - Where went my heart...
Being elsewhere bound in languid autumn folds
of warm flesh, welcomed absence.
Lost in wondrous arms.
I was lost, running from the horror
of being found, trussed up and dragged
back to polite society.
Stayed lost, ambivalent to the hunt,
left behind dreaming of becoming
lost again, when you made yourself
into who you are, and came for me.
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
sarahsmiles) wrote,
