joi, 24 aprilie 2014

The moon in my hand

the window is coated
with gloomy lace

my temples are pounding
with the sound
of drums made from
human skin

I have broken my
and the scattered pieces on the floor
make my heart's soles
bleed from within

the moon is white and naked
in my hands,
waiting for words
to robe her with a purpose

I don't know
how to behave
when I am mad at myself

the air between us
is so tense
it could slap you across the face
if cut with a kitchen knife

the stale smell of air
lingers in my brain

I can't seem to be selfless
to keep my misery from breeding

Niciun comentariu: