Body

Fingertips,colder than ice I keep,slowly running themselves across keyboards,gripping pencils and pens,which scrape letters into pages,and draw misshaped figures onto sheets.

Leading from ice cold fingertips,are wrists,wrapped in strings, with colours,bright and faded,and beads,of different shapes and meanings,stuck on these wrists forever.

Then elbows,and shoulders,sticking out,bumping into other beings,scraping off of edges,rough and worn,and not taken care of.

Misshapen body,with curves and lines,leading down to the knees,bruised and cut,scraped and scarred,from days long ago,filled with fearless thoughts.

Knees and ankles,wrapped with socks and tights,warming my body,but ever cold.
An ice cold body,with memories scraped into the skin,unforgettable moments in each scar,cut and bruise,in each bend and curve. A brain that will never forget,a heart that wishes it would.

Reviews

[Etoiles]

I really like this, such poignancy.
It feels familiar too.
:)