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Smoke Stone
Folder:
Shorties
smoke stone face
gazing downwards
we touch the light in our hair
maybe you and I, in a different life
But I survived the hooligans on street corners
I brushed away the drunken breath of men
stumbling towards my body
All I have done is survive
and I eat the gods and monsters
and whatever else finds me in the dark
It's called repression baby
and I don't remember the day I died but I
certainly have been dead for a long time
Maybe you and I, sometime
smoke stone mouth
turns cold
like winter
like hands
and these hands will never get to you
You don't care.
Repression, Supression
Repression and suppression are two very different things, but I like this because I have an understanding of it all, and feel gratitude now that I have reaped in abundance, the benefits.
Your writes are always beautiful.
~peace~
.....
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
thanks night!!
thanks night!!
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.