by happening fish » 3/20/2005, 12:53 pm
"Untitled one"
If I drag my fingers along the wall,
I can feel the little bumps.
They’ve been collecting there for years,
Each one feels like a little scar,
But I don’t mind them; their pain is part of me.
Sometimes I must teach myself how to live.
Yes, I am afraid. Yes, the pain is a hard little ball.
When I hold it up and turn it in my fingers,
I am surprised by how small it is,
And by how nothing can ever crack it open.
I don’t remember what’s in there; I hid that in there too.
It moves in my veins by night, heading for my heart.
Should I be looking for the light?
Others say they have found part of it.
They tell me it is a fire, and it warms and saves.
I always thought the fire might eat me,
And so I stayed away from it; I am not food.
I have seen the others, with flames in their hair.
Every now and then, the room is too dark,
And the curtains don’t want to open,
And neither does the door.
So I sink back into my bed, into a daytime nap,
Hoping for sleep to come; it never does.
We are great friends, the blade in my back and I.
awkward is the new cool
[url]gutterhome.blogspot.com[/url]