I want to believe that I’m the ghost
Walking through the woods;
One small cackle,
A broken branch,
An index of places been before.
I collapse
And am the definition of un-sturdy
For my limbs are limp,
My eyes deep blue pale,
My skin, the colour of
Ten thousand sins
Washed with a rectangular bar of soap,
And hair touching my shoulders
That feels like spider webs
Through a barely audible path.
Tag: soap
Gnawing (day 24)
Rooted deep within all circles of evil
Crawling on all fours for much better grip
Lurking with anticipation for a glimpse of weakness
The eye of the beholder is critically acclaimed
Soap and suds and weakness of knees
Sprinkled with the disaster of planned picnics
Try the harlequin approach; matted and mixed
Speak of the devil, sins approached epic; unheard
Socialize, civilize, advocate, demonize
Restate the obvious for clandestine passengers
Gargle the soul out from under the skies
Reign down your thunder with an eclipse and blunder
The days parade has slid away quietly
Marching bands stopped for swill; a plunder
Phallic imaginations carrying symbols
You’re young, your day will soon come