deepundergroundpoetry.com
Ten Fingers
I fell into the room
Of quiet afternoons
Spent adrift in mind
With moods of gloom
I watched the sunset
Nigh a thousand times
Amidst plush pink walls
I've always hated them
They feel unclean
She had ten fingers
They were prunes
From afar
Her hands felt of ice
She smelled of mothballs
She had ten fingers
Ten razor blades
She drove them up
She dragged them down
I am but a toy
A teaser
The little boy
Naive no more
I am but a toy.
Of quiet afternoons
Spent adrift in mind
With moods of gloom
I watched the sunset
Nigh a thousand times
Amidst plush pink walls
I've always hated them
They feel unclean
She had ten fingers
They were prunes
From afar
Her hands felt of ice
She smelled of mothballs
She had ten fingers
Ten razor blades
She drove them up
She dragged them down
I am but a toy
A teaser
The little boy
Naive no more
I am but a toy.
Published 22nd May 2018
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8th Sep 2020 7:17pm
