My eyelids have made a grave
for the two innocent children that laid Beneath them
Sparkling blue and sheltering them from their
catastrophe bliss
Now, I am a stranger.
The blood that lies beneath me is burning & ruptuting pores
I see your reflection against the crimson hems
I made them in the dark, they have met no other eyes.
I don't taste the salt of them anymore,
The sweet pain- gashes are numb to taste
And the color of them is the color of my dress
Which I tore down for you
And laid in a pile on the floor
Just as my body will
When I am done with it.

09/18/2004

Posted on 09/18/2004
Copyright © 2025 Wendy Geal