This all that remains of me; skin and the lips, fingers (no grip).

Asymmetrical senses of self watch their wealth of worth

Existential crises
pen to pituitary parry both
iron and irony
so the fires I speak spread
to empires
enunciation’s lost its bite.

This is all in the world that sets my jaded soul alight (tonight);
gives two broken wings a touch of flight.

The bones once in my arms did so much more harm that good,
nervous fragments in my fingers,
needles and pins at pain’s
every whim.

But all I am
now’s skin,
an organ of simple taste,
clothing for self-contained

A blemish of burns and
burst capillaries
to some but
others make
a story of those scars;

all life’s greatest
stories in
a recording device with a
blatant disregard for
happy endings.


4 thoughts on “Skin

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s