Pain
like rocks
dumb
like stone
like my head
falling away
as my eyes
as my heart
a flower
drifting
on the sea
on a fading sky
cold
cloudless
Heaviness
no translation
no note or card
neither letter
nor pen
It starts under
the eyes
a pulling
weight not seen
cheeks as lead
skin as glass
tap me
please
mercy
I ask
Into the dark
as darts
missive after missive
penned in blood
dashed like dice
from box to box
sent
frail me
the walk
from door to street
day upon day
stacked
all the same
put the pain on me
watching my life
dry
crimson to oxblood
in a numb
dumb
sun
2 comments:
Incredibly forceful is the imagery within, it felt reading as though one had been punched in the chest, the impact stealing breath, provoking tears, a compulsive, instantaneous response, reflex to the anguish described so markedly. "True poets don't write their thoughts with a pen... they release the ink that flows from within their hearts." Your ink is wet to the touch.
If only it were ink that was wet. Your comment is very kind.
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