We slit out wrists last Tuesday
Second hour past dawn
It was no new revelation
But the thrill of introspection has always drawn
The cat made herself scarce, the bats
Made no breath of air
As we slammed our sodden hands together
Over a thrice-stained wicker chair
The splatter was kind enough that day
To hide the blistered blemish of your face
While in my nakedness I drank the warmth
And savoured sweet the taste
We watched the blood condense and falter
Its questing stayed by the kitchen floor
And my O and your B positive
Slipped softly out the kitchen door
(Holding hands forever more)
Note
Twitter
Facebook
Reddit
Digg
LiveJournal
MySpace
Report a Policy Violation
Follow us on Twitter
Become a fan on Facebook
Comments
--
"You can't wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club." - Jack London
--
When I give food to the poor,
They call me a saint,
When I ask why the poor have no food,
They call me a communist
--
~ Lady Konstantine ~
--
When I give food to the poor,
They call me a saint,
When I ask why the poor have no food,
They call me a communist
--
When I give food to the poor,
They call me a saint,
When I ask why the poor have no food,
They call me a communist
--
life is pointless to live if you are alone....
--
When I give food to the poor,
They call me a saint,
When I ask why the poor have no food,
They call me a communist
Previous Page12Next Page