deepundergroundpoetry.com

the itch, the blister

 
 
he insists we made the nails  
 
in return he bequeaths an  
itch as we walk upon soil,
 
i can't recall the last time
my hands opened his book
 
but my mind remembers  
each spite he chose to  
leave behind as we  
collect our blisters.

Written by _feral
Published
Author's Note
a short poem from my upcoming book
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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