Steel and concrete.
The words were cold,
Wet,
The afterthoughts in my mind.
Graveyards and pits,
Muddy shoes and silver rains,
Silhouettes shimmering cold
Behind the corners of my eyes.
I peel and concede
That I cannot feel the warmth
I saw in others' eyes when I
Was so much younger,
More malleable,
More admirable,
Able to cry and complain
That I couldn't feel the same tugging
In my brain.
Steel and Concrete
Remind me there are days
When I don't feel human.
Instead, I laugh.
I commit to a dull head
Dull eyes
Dull smiles
Dull strokes when I feel
The ringing in my mind
Will go away with enough words,
Enough matte emotions,
Enough tough clothes
That pull at my shoulders
And twist around my stomach.
Sometimes I wish
Someone would fill my blood
With steel,
And bury me under concrete.
Then, perhaps,
I might remember
To suffocate
And wish for warmth.
YOU ARE READING
Blood As My Ink
PuisiEmotions, beliefs, dreams, and imagination run through the body. Like ink they flow through the vein and, every now and then, it decides to run out.
