I wonder whether these
red walls could echo the things I've lost
[maybe my mind]
and I wish I could find again.
But if I tore at my skin,
bleeding until I read nothing but
sanity on my fingertips,
then would I feel any better?
If I found scars across my skin
tore apart flesh and fiberglass
could I breathe,
or would the blood just smear against my lips
and become more tears?
[how would that make me anymore normal?]
It seemes like my lips
should be able to shudder confessions
that convinced myself I know better.
But when the black swallows hard,
I can't breathe.
And if you spend your nights wondering
whether steel could replace skin,
are you really human?
If you spend your nights
watching vanishing stars and holding
broken glass to your skin,
are you really sane?
Author notes
ehhh
>.<
maybe i should say it's fiction.
or maybe i should just fuck that.
A contest entry
- Smile? by Exodus.
525 points, ended January 18, 2008, 23 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
...
Comments
-
I love it.
Your metaphors are stunning, the imagery incredibly intense. Just wow.
Thank you
-
Man...I don't know what to say. This is really different from all your other poems. Less love and more angst. The questions are so potent and so emotional that I could feel my chest constricting as I read this.
Also, they seem a lot more powerful to me after our latest conversation. I'm really, really glad you didn't.
But I'm also in a huge dilemma. I obviously don't ever want you to feel this way but I'm also half-glad the times you do because you end up writing fan-fucking-tastic poetry like this. Like always.
God, I can't tell you how much I loved the last two stanzas.
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