Go ahead.
Lean against harsh brick-
smoke your last cigarette
and pretend that this isn't happening.
Alabaster skin, welted from the blows-
bruises rising as you inhale-
pain spiking as the shock wears thin.
Fingernails scratch the surface
of the inside of your palm,
you're trying to remember
when you actually believed this would end.
Angry wind bites through the torn fabric
of your favorite t-shirt,
the flavor of smoke and blood
seeping through those final moments.
You've given up on the gods that don't listen-
and the people that never care.
A contest entry
- Make Me Cry by SeptemberFaith.
800 points, ended January 9, 24 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Be harsh, be specific.
Comments
-
I thought this was good.. I was unsure if maybe this person was dying... caused their own death or if it was something else. I think if you made that a little more clear that the reader could hold more interest.
Criss
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