Post by anon82 on Oct 31, 2014 0:38:47 GMT -5
I'm a flood of tear streamed blood
from the array of unborn wounds.
Through fluent word choice and continuous attention,
one would never recognize that I, inside, am dying.
"But aren't we all," you ask.
This is precise from ones absent minded experiences with distress;
however, the constant pain begins to bruise and the blood fills my body with worry
as though a container dunked into the sea,
not smooth or bleak, but piercing and all at once.
from the array of unborn wounds.
Through fluent word choice and continuous attention,
one would never recognize that I, inside, am dying.
"But aren't we all," you ask.
This is precise from ones absent minded experiences with distress;
however, the constant pain begins to bruise and the blood fills my body with worry
as though a container dunked into the sea,
not smooth or bleak, but piercing and all at once.