the wind rushes by, reminiscent of somewhere
(not my home, not even my birthplace...
just a place.)
only... it isn’t really wind,
just the trains roaring past
(steel snakes with countless poverty-stricken lives in their bellies)
there are holes...
aching black holes that i fear to enter.
the gaping pupils of a reflection in water
(i know the path, but will not lead you to it)
death
is entirely shadowed in greys
(for these eyes have seen too much
already)
[ghostly hands
make poor bandages didn’t you know?]
there are 6 small scars on the left side of my chest.
i put them there.
i am the pain i felt, i am the pallid etchings left behind.
i am everything that made me this way.
and i am fucking beautiful.
[perhaps
if i scream it loud enough
i will believe it.]
Comments
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God damn... those last three lines were powerful.
You use very intense metaphors and have great pacing, which helps build up to the conclusion of the piece. I also enjoyed your use of spacing, brackets, and parenthesis for formatting and kinda of lightly separating certain bits.
I love the shift in mood towards the end and how it gets incredibly personal right at:
"there are 6 small scars on the left side of my chest."
I'll browse your other work now
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well done
-
.
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