The sight of your wrists
It makes my skin float,
my milky whites ache
So close
They feel transparent
Tear-able
A scratch will open
Pouring
Warm
Sick
Cheeks flushed and cold
Ears ring
Skin on edge
So close
The skin rattles
Ever thin
Pumping
Sound of pouring
Breath stalls
Fear breaks
So close
Calming now
Milky whites clean
Firm
I will remember how close
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment