Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
I tidy up the spilled frosted sugar
literally walking on eggshells, I scratch my nails on my palm patter of your feet stops my panic my ragged breath rights itself I tidy up the spilled frosted sugar at times I can't fathom the way fact occurs along with fiction red welts on my arms tell a tale of decay when you rub that salve to soothe it I close my eyes and let you wash over me