.word working at 2AM
Wipes satin soot from below my eyes
and cleans the toxic emotions I keep stored
under toes,
where I am often swept away.
maintain consistency in semi-rhythmic heart beats
these palpitations of the soul
where I am left incomplete, so distant
so I pick up these shards of memories to dispose
but find them lodged in my feet
throbbing annoyance. these memories are
so shallow seeded
but painful in their origin.
I pluck them out with routine inspection
like Nazi's at the command of “Concentration”
still your scars remind me
but slowly I learn that I am put together
with more than mere desecrations of the heart.
Idiosyncrasy is beauty.
Author notes
this is for someone long gone. your abscence has taught me more of myself than your presence did.
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