deepundergroundpoetry.com
Lift it, "it" is you.
And I can serve saliciously
as a hair split
an end of protein in potent strand
I've been bleached to salt
I've been bleached to salt
A wall to scale with brittle beds
nails breaking
bald-tipped
10 little sweating heads
You give me no anchor
and say to use my legs
as a hair split
an end of protein in potent strand
I've been bleached to salt
I've been bleached to salt
A wall to scale with brittle beds
nails breaking
bald-tipped
10 little sweating heads
You give me no anchor
and say to use my legs
Published 12th Jan 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 6
reading list entries 1
comments 6
reads 598
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
12th Jan 2019 6:15am
So glad to see you back, AtomikOne.
Nothing is worse than feeling dried out and brittle - just as it can't rain all the time - nor can a drought survive forever.
Nothing is worse than feeling dried out and brittle - just as it can't rain all the time - nor can a drought survive forever.
12th Jan 2019 8:16am
12th Jan 2019 6:40am
as long as the back stayed okay. spontaneity has become cautious pacing. i get that feeling!
12th Jan 2019 8:17am
14th Jan 2019 5:02pm
22nd Jan 2019 6:12pm
this reminds me of how horrible of luck I have with car trouble.
now that that's out of the way
this piece reminds me of how often we change to appease significant others/lovers in a loom weaving in and out of fabric until we're not what we use to be and realized we never truly saw the light of day until that one drive home from work when reality hits and you have to pull over to regain composure.
or
sexual retaliation, reimaging like a cosmetic brand that's sure to reinvent, re-invoke those original feelings of butterflies in gaining the rhythm in motion, momentum, leverage for gratification. throw me in the meat grinder and we'll see if I can walk.
love it. well penned.
now that that's out of the way
this piece reminds me of how often we change to appease significant others/lovers in a loom weaving in and out of fabric until we're not what we use to be and realized we never truly saw the light of day until that one drive home from work when reality hits and you have to pull over to regain composure.
or
sexual retaliation, reimaging like a cosmetic brand that's sure to reinvent, re-invoke those original feelings of butterflies in gaining the rhythm in motion, momentum, leverage for gratification. throw me in the meat grinder and we'll see if I can walk.
love it. well penned.
