Sitting, dim, by a bright yellow
lamp, next to greasy blue
walls, My heart's room is closed
to the cold.
The door is latched,
There are no lights,
And you are locked inside.
One two Three
days go by. Then Weeks.
You keep time by scaring
/ into me. Drawing X's over
my eyes, and O O O if only there was
the tiniest hole, you could scratch
scratch.
scratch.
There are none.
There is only room in my small heart for one.
And even now, when
I press one hand to my chest
I feel you banging.
THUMP...
THUMP...
THUMP...
You are still there.
Your fingertips leaving
streaks on the window.
pure
raw
talent
at its very best.
Your poetry paints a picture on a blank canvas, and for every person that reads it, the picture is different. That's why your poetry is so freakin' damn goood!!
It truly is amazing.
So here is some
Kerry.
the blood should cover it.
but
I always thought
peoms that were really
just written tiraids
are sort of boring.
i'd rather make something
that most people find meaningless
but that is more like a painting
writen in words.
thus i tend to lean towards images
rather than
just plain out saying something.
thank you for such a lovely comment.
i hate it when that happens
but i got to read clones of your lovely comment
twice
and now
the sun is shining brighter here.
[and i am hiding from it]
but yes
It makes me stop, and read it over, and the imagery is wonderful as well. Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrrrrrry well written, and very.. macabre, in a purdy sort of way. Much lurve!
when it's, you know, not all.. shiney and in everyone's faces
and hair.
Really though, I like this. Kind've symbolic in a way..
reminds me offf.. sad things, my mommy, and crank.
... yes. >.< But it's beautiful nonetheless! And very well written. Makes me want to read it again and again.