deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Piñata

The least I can say is
I’m at home with the ghosts
That haunt my nostalgia.
At times they creep up
My freezer-burnt hair follicles
Reminding me of
How my heart was formed,
Papier-mâché and confetti-less
Filled only with artifacts
Of kingdoms past—
A nautical compass,
Fresh wildflowers plucked
Straight off the battlefield,
And pieces of stolen artwork
Depicting the most lightless eyes
Ever beheld.
Written by Kbeck714
Published
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