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