Wednesday, July 6, 2011

A shored wail

Things are dying inside me
But I am still alive.

Every new morning
calls me to awaken
to its shallow depths.

Where is my ticker?
I can hear it flicker
in a puddle of weak injury.
It won't even bleed
its pain out.

It hoards pain,
it's a plain whore.
It's playing itself hoarse
So I complain to the hordes.
In throaty whispers
that carry my plane to the shores;
They keep me on course.

Get that pitiful slime off that face!
You're only getting fazed by a phase.
If only you won't drown now, you'll love water all your life;
You were meant to survive.

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