it's hard to let go of the past,even when only
bits and pieces of cloth stand testimony on its
how many raggedy dolls have I forgotten?
how many dresses are now brittle strings?
how many men stand naked,while patches
pile under my undisturbed bed?
we never stop to think about the stories
in which our socks and shorts and T-shirts
are soaked,yet we cover our bodies more
than we do our souls...
a scarf to mend a broken voice,some gloves
to hide blood-stained fingers,even a belt
to smother that smoky breath from within-
how thin is our substance,
how damned our masked shell!
I got lost in this sea of cotton dreams and
artificial seams,wanting to create and
ending up swallowed by an incomplete beast...