BLOOD-SPATTERED COAT SYNDROMEA Poem by Liamesq
In a vision I see myself in white robes Doing an autopsy on my soul Surrounded by instruments, knives, probes As I lift my ghostly organs into their bowl I tear away at the shell which coated it Worn by years of hurt And the only difference as I cut bit by bit Is that there's no blood-spurt It's wrinkled, broken, lifeless, limp And easy to slice apart I grab the skin, I knead and crimp Make my way to my unholy heart The ribcage is snapped as I pull it back To find an easy route And I'm reminded of its fragility, with each wretched crack In search of this existential loot
© 2013 Liamesq |
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Added on November 21, 2012 Last Updated on January 10, 2013 Tags: BLOOD-SPATTERED COAT SYNDROME&nb Author
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