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Using the back of my hand in an attempt to clear what's unclear
by Jared OrlandoI got nervous,
So with one shaky hand,
I took the whiteout,
Scrubbing out a world,
Through a foggy porthole.
But as clumsy;
As clumsy as I am,
How shaky are my wrists;
I didn’t see you,
And it seems as if
I might’ve erased your features,
With one fell swoop
Leaving you there.
You are just a print;
A copy of an original,
But much colder,
More like a blizzard.
But don’t blame me
You were erased that way. 02/02/2010 Posted on 02/03/2010
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by V. Blake on 02/03/10 at 02:55 AM Phew. For a second there I thought this was gonna be a poem about spousal abuse. |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 02/03/10 at 04:44 AM A person, becoming a memory, becoming a bit ragged, becoming static, becoming white noise...I love it. |
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