You do know, don’t you,
that I don’t blame you?
I know I’ve always been
a filament, to you,
a glass-encased lit-up
burning thing, remote
from flesh, and anger,
and strings of salt water.
And I know it must be
quite alarming to have me
touch your skin and
suddenly be fumbling
through layer after layer,
creasing you open.
This isn’t what you asked for,
and it isn’t what you’re going
to get.
I do understand that.
It’s just that I’m too
far beneath the surface now
to be removed
without leaving scar tissue
on my serrated
brittle edges –
and if I fracture now,
I’ll leave punctures in you,
too.
A contest entry
- skin by adsaige.
300 points, ended August 14, 2008, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Judged
There really isn't anything I can say other than this is a very well-written poem. There are some very nice images in the poem.
I thank you for entering. Good Luck.
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