Cool tiles march
from my feet into white
gray walls, full
of your shoulderprints,
and I am
digging clumsy fingers
into these sheets,
trying to re-spin skin
your hands unraveled.
Today tastes
of too much salt
and rancid city streets.
Cool tiles march from my feet into white gray walls, full of your shoulderprints, and I am digging clumsy fingers into these sheets, trying to re-spin skin your hands unraveled. Today tastes of too much salt and rancid city streets. |
Author's Comments
I had forgotten how it can feel to have someone absolutely shatter you, reduce you to little more than a broken heart and numbness everywhere else.
Please, do comment. I only just wrote it, and the emotions are raw enough that I can't distance myself enough to edit. Your help will be greatly appreciated. |
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--
She had known happiness, intense happiness, exquisite happiness, and it silvered the rough waves a little more brightly as the blue went out of the ocean...
- Virginia Woolf, "To the Lighthouse"
--
Get a comment from me? Return the favour. Visit my
now for the critique...
your first few lines are a little confusing.... is it supposed to be white-gray walls? or march into white. gray walls...
the way it is written makes it hard to understand if white is supposed to flow into gray or be the end of a thought.
and this... is absolutely amazing...
I am
digging clumsy fingers
into these sheets,
trying to re-spin skin
your hands unraveled.
i can completely relate. beautifully put.
--
"we can't stop here...this is bat country!"
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