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An Empty House
by Aaron BlairSometimes, the blade my mind imagines
is so sharp that it draws invisible blood,
which slides, like a whisper, down my arms,
a lover's caress from the only thing that
never disappointed my thirst for more.
I've got bruises on my throat from love.
He closes all the exits that a soul could use
to flee from the confines of a body
so that I have no choice but to live.
If he could sharpen his tongue into a needle,
he would sew shut my lips and my eyes.
The truth is that he's locked the doors
to an empty house. I have never been here.
My father tried to kill me twice, and bound
by the ghost of his hands, I have to finish the job. 08/14/2010 Posted on 08/14/2010
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 08/14/10 at 01:16 PM Wild, chaotic and endlessly fascinating. A really nicely written affair. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/14/10 at 07:27 PM OH, my, I do like this. Frightening in its imagery.
Loved the sensual, creepy feel to the 3rd line. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 08/15/10 at 01:11 AM ...aaron, all that gabe and kristina say, double. this could/may be a rich vein of imagination or a torrent of truth, and leaves one speechless and wondering. i love the tossed position you leave us in, your brilliance shows thru even if...nice, healthy write. |
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