Botulism, by Anathema Subscribe to rss feed for Anathema

The smell of summer fading;
rain, tears, and smoke from
the thousand broken dreams of burning children,
and those who chose to flee.
The embers burning heels,
The leaves are singed and falling.
The sun plummets so fast,
it pulls the swollen clouds and mist
dissipating, but it is not touchable.

A canvas made of bruised twilight
reflects the sickness they feel inside,
guttering like fragile minds and manipulation
reminding me you're such a slow artist.
swallowing time like a pill full of sand,
laboring into the dark
to the sounds of ragged breathing.

Makes my life
so still, dull, dark
compared to the sound of your drowning;
violent and full of passion
dancing like the flame you write with
scorching secrets.

The tip of your lips tear me apart
like the needle of your pen's salt in the gash
in my head.
so tired the medicine won't work,
had i forgotten
the pill filled with release?

Weighing down the grains
liquid mucous bubbling
pudding and laughter and teeth
ripping
tearing
thoughts of you fill my head wound
as i am falling apart

there is no picking up of peices,
and apathy is all we can be
our tolerance drained from disease.
Posted: 2007-02-04 18:13:58 UTC

This poem has no votes yet. To vote, you must be logged in.
To leave comments, you must be logged in.