The Firing Squad

By day I’m buried in a velvet box

Covered in pink like a womb-wrapped fetus.

I linger with blackened lips

Still smoldering from brushfire breath.

 

My eyes are rusted knots,

A rich and hard brown

That chips and peels

Like the undercarriage of ancient machines.

 

I ache like slaughter

And smell of decay

As moral fiber unravels

The blindfold that hides my bedroom eyes.

 

Wrapped in snares of silk

I twist myself deeper against the obsidian sheet

And long for the blindfold

Instead of facing the firing squad so willing to pierce me through

With each lustful bullet thrust.

Reviews

[Jennifer]

I am kind of lost in the beginning there. I almost thought it was an object that is hidden away for safe keeping then it turns into someone facing a firing squad. I do like this one though, I like the descriptions.

[Rain]

Lots of dark images. You portrayed them well. Good job. Rain..

[Blade & Blood (The ..]

Okay, either that was a metaphorically-run lustful love poem or the narrator was just stuck in a fire... I couldn't tell because you're that good at really deep imagery. Regardless, I really love this poem. Great job!

Ironically Yours, -Blade and Blood

[Dysis]

I like it, but it creeps me out a bit. Very decriptive. Great imagery. What is this "person" supposed to be? To me it sounds like a vampire returning from a long nights battle and not getting into his coffin before the sun started to add to his ever painful injuries. And then as he finds his sanity, he twists himself into the silk lining of his safety.

[Marie]

Where do you come up with your ideas? Great write.