The fire inside you is like sand,
It pours deeply into anything you touch.
Your crevices are a wonder,
You hide so much in them
Yet they appear neat.
Your lips are a cold dessert.
Every inch of your words
Twinge my being.
Your essence is as fine flour,
Yet coarse to the touch.
How is it that I cannot feel it?
My belly turns in rounds
Like the turning of the vinyl disk in its desk.
I can only feel it's melodies numb my being
Is this fear, I wonder?
I cannot forebear the aftertaste of this madness,
I cannot leave this story unfinished,
But I have nothing left to say
Your fire has taken it away.
YOU ARE READING
Tell Me Something
Poetry~where I tell you many things~ It would be a lie if I say I don't feel many things. I feel alot. But I also do not feel anything most times. If I change my skin and become someone else, will you still understand me? Why don't I tell what I think? _ ...
