My emotions are a thread
Wound tightly on a spool
Unraveling them
Sewing them into your soft membrane
Attempting to avoid a leak
Carefully plucking off each eggshell
Mother said to lick the tip
Before you fit it through the eye
But no matter what it frays
And you are the needle
And I cannot get through to you
Despite my steady hands
Despite all of my practice
You make an excellent grave robber
Pulling nails from the wood of other coffins to shut your own
As if it's the dead who have done it
As if that's possible
Anything else but you
Please, anything else but you.
-Poetry Party Ghost
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Poetry Party Ghost
PoesíaNeed a break from the noise? The ultimate survival guide to being socially awkward is here. Read into the mind of the poetry party ghost, a fellow playing the fly-on-the-wall to an assortment of situations in the world. Hear them ramble about all yo...
