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manufactored
| Teen Poetry #7 |
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manufactored |
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Lexy Senior Member
since 2003-01-28
Posts 1038California |
The time feels like bruises. Three figures, evading this illusion. We all sleep sound, on nights with little deepth. I stay up, on night watch. To see to my amusement, those who drown in their own puddles. Weak, although no one cares how the life is being ejected from they’re noses Like dismal colored roses, they bleed all over they’re pillows. No light to feel, even when the hour is meant to read bright, morning madness. I drift away again, my skin is loose on my bones, the spaces welcome the shame to breed. Manufactored. Tape the leaves back on the branches. Pump the blood back into gray bodies. (Mock brightness, and neon mirrors.) Follow this trial of yellow breath, life seems desperate on this weak willed wensday. Settle the lies, like deep diver professionals. We hang ourselves by our upside down halos. It must be all over me, like fleeting identity. Though I’m no one I still hide my face. |
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| © Copyright 2004 Alexis Smith - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Match Member
since 2002-07-01
Posts 286Canada Edmonton |
I liked this The last line really got to me, nice. http://www.nexopia.com/profile.php?uid=34810 <--all me baby! |
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