• alexanderstark12 4w

    Poem 62

    Chop! 
    My fingers cut
    Instead of an onion

    Inside
    A black fluid
    Flows over the surface
    Covering the dead skin
    On the carpet

    Hesitate
    For a second
    But my mind is like that of the cat
    I'm in the age where wonders
    Wait to be discovered on the skin

    Peeled
    With a knife
    Further and further
    Like skinning a captured animal
    Replaced by an arm that's alien

    Naked
    I run outside
    The street lamp reveals 
    The torn and bloody remains of me
    A transparent vessel with glowing veins inside

    Heels
    Deep in the ground
    I look towards the sky
    Through my lifeless eyes
    And howled with every voice I have
    ©alexanderstark12