Submissions by rueteas

we are spent on stories
that sleep beneath our fingertips,
drawing out hollow caves,
until dusk is all that fills our hearts
brittle and morose,
huddled in,
half-eaten hiding spots,
with fountain pens for fingertips
we wonder why,
ink pours,
after dark

dark blemishes scatter the body,
scars etch across the skin,
knees & elbows bleed,
beehives hang high for a reason,
honey is treacly,
& torment is desirable