Marriage

Tonight my mind bleeds upon an open book, the pages torn and tattered framing the snapshots of our past. I reach for the undisturbed ink �" writing only what I feel, the page remains a muted canvas. I lay my head upon your pillow, where the moth-eaten indentation roams, as a crop-circle, in complete and utter absent awe. I shudder as the clammy grasp of the nylon mound draws me closer, as north to south. I remain a cringe, immobile, paralysed and pulse less.

I lay as you in the wooden frame.  They made me up �" a picture. I lay there now, a witless memory, staring at the soles of Jesus’ tortured feet.

And you sit upon our sty, bleeding on our past, our history, our legacy. You rest your head upon my trench, wipe a black eye-lined tear and write our everything as nothing. Nothing but black. 

Reviews

[The Wave]

wow

really enjoyed this piece from you.
the imagery is what makes this superb and the phrase, "staring at the soles of Jesus' tortured feet." was very powerful and stood out the most.

overall, this is well written,
good job.