TW
Cold knees covering a chest
never supposed to be,
hair itching a heavy back
and trimmed nails bleeding.
The clock is ticking louder?
Words floating off a paper and
images out of movies
snatch up what remains
of the pathetic
nobody
in the corner of all the curtains and hangers
and scrambled lines of the world
that hates him.
YOU ARE READING
The Man I Once Knew
PoetryLife isn't something you can play like an instrument or read like a book. It's like poker or improv - there are rules and "cheats" to make it easier but no way of knowing the turnout. Contradictions, love, betrayal, hurt, lust, disgust, joy, all th...
