Sore to the touch
Red to the sight
Blistering to the air
Dark black lace run’s down her arms
A liquid ink suffocating her delicate hands
She whisper’s to the canvas in front of her
Red ink fall’s from her eyes as she watches her life grow on the white paper
Death and frustration
Betrayal and lies
Slamming her inked palm onto its cold surface
She bows her head and shakes with laughter
You would never think that such a thing could make you realize the truth
That a blank canvas could show you who you are
Leaning back she looked down at her hands
An odd print sketched onto their surfaces
For years to come she shall look back
Unto her inked hands
A secret message whispering to her to remember but let go
A contest entry
- Title Prompts! by JustSimplyLissa.
600 points, ended November 14, 2008, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Very interesting take on the prompt, a very visual write. Wonderfully composed by your pen. Thank you for a splendid entry!
Adding your comment:
