I share -
offering
to your hooded lens
reptilian defense
of the spirit,
my festering
dream wounds,
the creatures
of my childhood
shoes and bed –
that guttural voice
so loud
so large
it must mutilate me...
soon
I present
the cool
relief
of reason
to pay your piper…
scream
at my bloody feet
desperate to ease
the marathon urge -
watching
that cold
eye that
does
not
blink
3 comments:
ouch ... aching weeping wounds in your words here
you ever bared your soul to somebody close to you? or had a really shite day emotionally; trying to hang on to normality - and caught that unblinking stare from them? the kind that lab professors wear when studying specimens?
thats what gave rise to this - the cold eye.
yes, definitely. it made me quieter, ultimately. know what you mean - like being looked at by a rather malevolent lizard.
hqsjmma - now that's def finnish ...
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