To an ear well recieved

Something I wish I could say in person, to a friend in dire straights.

Slide her sharp heart into the box beneath your sheets

And perhaps the silence will kill the lights.

Then these secrets might not spread across

This irony flesh in news paper print spelling out

Words, that lips aren’t strong enough to say

 

Perhaps if you hide her away, the day may come

In which the beating will cease, and frightful blood

Will cease to flow.

Born again, in fear or lust she may return from this

Physical coma, destinations unknown.

 

Set your anchor in the seas of black and blue

And ride the waves, legs buckling under this pressure.

What to do? These tides are so high! This screeching wind

Is far to punishing! What can I do to make It stop?

 

Then perhaps, when the figures of speech run out

The newspaper print can be covered in one last

Brush of comfort from the cold hands of someone hovering

Above the chilled steel slab you finally hid this heart on.

Send her steely harmonies, supposing your hearts sing.

 

 

Author's Note

The situation is obvious I do believe.
What does everyone think about the word choices?

Reviews

[robin]

I think there's some ambivalence, as though the author would tell them both a thing or two if it would wake one up. I love the newspaper print and the "black day on the beach" kind of bleakness it leads me to. Irony flesh and figures of speech beware paper doll armies! And the sharp heart, b***h give me that! I wonder at the subtext, is it a twisted Harold Pinter lesson? Destroy the born again within you?