Thursday, July 5, 2012

Poetry: Kitchen Knife



 Blood
             runs
across the light oak table

   and

  drips

 garnet


spheres


                                                                     to the varnished floor.
                                                                            Terror is found in numbness of the
                                                                                                    body and clarity of the mind. 
                                                                                                                          He knows as he stares
                                                                                             at the senseless
                                                            wounds weeping red tears on his arm
                                                     Knife dangling from his pale fingers, the
beat of his madness pulsing just
Below the skin;
                                                                                                I    cant   feel
                                                                                                            I       cant       feel.     


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