Friday, May 22, 2015

Don't think of others until...

I used to think you were reckless,
motor-cycle parked and regret stitched onto your left arm
 tattoo of wolves howling in the dark

I used to think you were sadistic,
laughing death off its face with
a jaw tightened around your foot

 I used to laugh at the way
you held a glass full of daisies
on top of your head

move, you said
posture is important
for the straightening of chests

clogged by anger
and this pollution, this pus
that's killing all of us

it never made sense
the energy it took
to watch a smile

forming onto your face
maybe we are not always
meant to understand

that certain thoughts demand
more of us
than we are willing to provide

in shapes, in words
even silence

demands too much,
I used to think so much of you
like you were a broken piece of glass
scratching my palms,
making me bleed. I feared blood
on your young face,  too young for twisted lips
and broken bones. No need for sliding miles
on the motorway
To think you are reckless
it was the third survival incision's scar
I saw that stopped
my thoughts

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