poison breaths boast the world. in flat sticks and deep bruises. limber of heart and rigid of soul. distance chases with wagging tongue and heaving chest. consumed with killing. she has her numbers. postured and poised. as all ghosts tend to be. arrogant with the science of darkness.
how rich is the void. that the prey can linger. hardly hunted.
fraying voices. threaded lips. all the words stitched together. empty needles favor the bark of doubt. she pivots on her crippled moments. dancing with her hand over her mouth. and her eyes barely in her head. a strategy of mania. more surrender than resolve.
fumbling to hasten death. in weak pin pricks and pierced plastic bags. she finds the fever hidden in mirrors and solvents. mouth agape. lungs receptive. to any and all willing toxins.
she'll die today if she gets her wish.
Thursday
2/07/2013 01:04:00 AM
| Life Poems |