Saturday, March 1, 2008

Barren (Slightly Imperfect) Old poem


Bleeding skin ruffled skirt, ripped stockings, staring at the deep blue sky
Looking up being tormented, by a lonely quiet demon
Separating two evils, fighting frantically, between layers of my sprit and flesh.
Layering makeup slowly fading day-to-day, waiting to be seen again, almost barren.
Walking through fields of petals and thorns, stripped, hiding as the soft breeze passes.
Burning open wombs, left untouched, waiting to be crushed and isolated.
A spirit, looks upon this body, grips it and plants a new flower creating a pink rose.

Vivianne Summers

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