My bones are old,
brittle-
they chafe when i speak.
your words used to be comfort, used to be warmth,
and vice,
but now, they carve caverns, canyons, craters
with ideas in mind for deeper furrows-
you knew
my lungs were designed to breathe this in,
smoke fumes toxin,
poison-
and the promise of pain by morning never
gave me
II pause II
To reconsider,
And my wrists have always been
latticed,
but delicately remind you
of what it is you promised-
so ironic, now you don’t remember
(you can say you were drunk, but I know better.)
i told you that words, would be the end for me;
but when my palms are sweaty in the evening,
and my lips are torn from the grinding of teeth
why is it
you feel the need to remind me?
Author notes
Sliptheflitch
A contest entry
- Make My Heart Cry by AbsoluteBrightness.
1400 points, ended November 7, 2008, 46 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Dooooo it.
Comments
-
this is amazing! you used very simple vocabulary and made a very potent poem out of it.
-
Thank you so much for entering this contest, I was hoping it would prove a catharsis for some and aide for others. Again thanks for entering.
Cheryl
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