deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sharp Things
I'm dripping in feathers
and mud. Whilst trying to pull
the feathers from my flesh I bleed.
It seems so strange to taste your ways
and your bitterness on my tongue
without touching you. I can't
make sense of your flare or
how you may dare to run
and run back. I've found
my home - on your bed
of thorns...Though I think I'll sell up
and move
soon.
and mud. Whilst trying to pull
the feathers from my flesh I bleed.
It seems so strange to taste your ways
and your bitterness on my tongue
without touching you. I can't
make sense of your flare or
how you may dare to run
and run back. I've found
my home - on your bed
of thorns...Though I think I'll sell up
and move
soon.
Published 11th Mar 2011
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
11th Mar 2011 3:41pm
this poem reminds me abit of that movie 'the black swan' maybe because of the imagery in the first verse... I liked it a lot though. :-)
11th Mar 2011 5:59pm
Thank you, it wasn't the intention - more olden day Jews who fell in love with the British in the war.
