motionless
water surrounding me, in the palm of her hand
wrap your fingers around my body
feel the jagged pieces
digging
a dull ringing intensifies
i wince at the sound
the tinkle of glass fills the open air
what is there left of me
other than the shallow grooves
and dark deficits that dot my cheeks
a mellow buzzing melts over
and closes my eyes
there's hands on me, bodies,
shoving and bustling
crowded and loud
but it bounces off and disappears
it's incapacitating
how can i be so full of nothing
overflowing with worthless entitlement
left with meek hands
clutching something ever so small
like an ember just about to fade
is there anything left of me?
I can't seem to decide
YOU ARE READING
the inevitable
Poetryunderestimate, unfold, understand. the third installment from words better left unspoken
