The skin of my
cracked lips,
Purses over my
wicked tongue
as it licks the
back of hateful teeth.
Attempting to
r e s t r a i n
words
bespoke.
Mutterings escape,
barely audible,
through splintered
flesh, as if they were
necessary.
Phrenic
postulational
thought,
and
the deed
is
done.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
