frayed

 

all of your promises lay

scattered at my feet.

like old poems,

when that fever burns.

they lay,

crumpled,

with coffee stains,

ashes,

the ink of them,

haphazardly smeared across my cheek

(from where i wiped that tear away, the stain of my fever that had dyed my hand, transfered to my pale face like paint on a warrior).

your promises bleed

from my eyes

trailing down my face,

carving inspiration

into the root of my soul

and this is the sap

gathered in the wound

these

meaningless attempts

at organizing the chaos

 

attempts!

 

to hold my hope far away.

to close my eyes,

and suture myself

with threads of thought.

so fragile are these threads.

a stray breath could snap them,

a glance in my direction.

but they still stand,

despite bold black daggers,

and amber addictions

begging me to succumb

in the void of this...

when all i want are

some strong arms to rescue me.

take me away... and wrestle your ghosts from my mind