Slice my skin and peel the layers back,
Tabula razor, bleached onion.
Poor and white as melting snow,
The shavings slip off smoothly.
Ah, the air stings my insides.
Plasma, run true. Strike your mark
With delicious drops of goodness,
Pollock, Quentin, Jean-Luc.
Il n'est pas de sang, il est rouge.
To bleed or not to bleed, that is digestion.
Blood, blood, wet my feet.
Spread your paint across my sheet
So I can finally fall asleep.
-
Author:
Ethan (
Offline) - Published: July 29th, 2017 17:42
- Comment from author about the poem: Hide-and-go peek.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 51
Offline)
Comments1
THIS IS INSANELY GOOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.