deepundergroundpoetry.com

Pretty As a Picture

 
Losing a part of oneself
creates a strange tactility
that gnaws at all of the senses.
A well crafted puzzle pulled
apart in irritation due to
a couple of lost pieces.
The full picture no longer
matters; it will never be complete.

My acceptance meter
is low on cash; I know
better than to stay parked
for too long.

Perhaps tomorrow I will
fire up this pretty vessel
and again look
lovingly at my imperfect
picture.
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_shadoe_ goldenmyst Vamps Honoria
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