midnight
is a time for music, alone
& gaping against the night;
I pour it
down my throat, coat fingers
and dip the ends of my hair
until I am layered
& filled again. I can gasp
and you won’t hear, I
can pry loose skin &
bone
until my face is numb
with the feast. this
empty deconstruction,
this mess of aching thought
cannot be spilt –
it is bound & tied to me,
three-fold
by heart & eyes &
soul, charmed into being
by a voice not my own. I
unravel
to the sound
of trembling sound - it
is the only way I know
to make me mine.
A contest entry
- keep it close by the atlantic.
1750 points, ended November 10, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
damn.
-
DANG
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