My latest poem:
Your cheeks still look
sinking, and your skin
is stretched so tightly on
your face, that I can see the detail
in your bones underneath. Or maybe
it is just my mind, messing
with the sight, because your
blue eyes are slowly killing me
and your dark form, receding
against the trees and rubble
is devouring me whole.
They named you peace,
but I name you war,
because you are the war inside me,
slowly tearing me into pieces.
I know I cannot see you there
as you are, because in some way
my expectations adjust the image
to what I want to see...
Your cheeks still look
sinking, and your skin
is stretched so tightly on
your face, that I can see the detail
in your bones underneath. Or maybe
it is just my mind, messing
with the sight, because your
blue eyes are slowly killing me
and your dark form, receding
against the trees and rubble
is devouring me whole.
They named you peace,
but I name you war,
because you are the war inside me,
slowly tearing me into pieces.
I know I cannot see you there
as you are, because in some way
my expectations adjust the image
to what I want to see...


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