The Old Stuff

She always has a salty taste

in her mouth.

Permanent crinkles have formed

between her brows.

And constantly she takes quick glances

over her shoulder.

As an apparition in the mirror

Her body faded into an image.

Simply a picture, but so much clearer.

Oh, despair! So dark.

So cold.

Unshackle her and

open the door.

Let her b r e a t h e!

Can this life so

void of anything true

continue to live

without wearing the glove

to cover the hand

that has written her sin

in words?

in blood?

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Brittany Bunker's picture

wow this is awesome!! i'm gonna have to read some more of your poems...keep up the good work!
brittany =)