sâmbătă, 10 august 2013

Morning tears

I have to cry my eyes into a mess
in order to be heard,
then hiccup fragments of words
for my message to get through
to a raging pulse

why do we seek stirring drama
when happiness is at hand?

I loathe being vulnerable,yet here I am,
an open wound and a shaking tomb
of the pride I once prized

a rainbow after the storm-
how the irony makes us blind!

my show has tucked away seams
and a snarl at all times ready
to avert a baby-war

ashamed and content,I realize
that this balance is frail,alive,
ready to fall and scrape my mental knees
to blood and beyond

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