EpitaphA Story by Thomas SkahillPiece of Spoken Word I'm working on, let me know what you think. It's about being taken into protective services.He was given a bear.. ..like Teddy's a cure for broken when what broken needs is the sanity of family and some room to breathe
but they wouldn't understand that it's the other's that foster, that fester, fear and hide in holes
that daily sob with their arms
outstretched, forgotten in a numbing cold.
they just sow pick up the scraps
slowly put them back.
Then laugh that the torture on the inside didn't make them capable of re-entering society of being a cog in the well fueled machine nonetheless provide us with the scents we admit when we scream alone in the dark with no-one to hear but the ears safely lodged between each tear
So We follow we follow the first passage out of a cloudy misted environment into another murky being and
My hand disappears in front of yours. Around us others laugh as we mis-represent the beauty of representation in resenting the human form.
Ah, this cancerous pack of sheep to easily sleeps in the creases of wolf skin:
too eager to howl, to moan and bray under the influence of a bubbling blue moon. But when would I leave? When stones speak? When nails strike board or skeletons wash ashore?
And who should I abhor? But the bitten hands that placed them there, force-fed them melted-pot-slop and sent them on their way?
And Oh! what better position than fame juxta feeble organic frame
As poor sold on excess sunk, spoke, left a vacant layered mess?
I don't know
I sit stoned, gazing at the gallery's opening night. Stunned by the crowned galleons and valleys of illuminated gold. © 2014 Thomas SkahillFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorThomas Skahillsanta barbara, CAAboutPublished In The Catalyst, Larcenist, Inscape, and Emergence literary Journals. Worked as an editor for the latter for a brief stint and currently getting back into production. more..Writing
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