Friday, March 29, 2013

My Face Hurts

As per usual I am having massive self-doubt issues, which means POETRY.  So, here you go. Welcome to my Brain Goblin Falls.

My Face Hurts


We fake and eat the crust of
bright nothings
filled high with sickness so
sweet and red
so delicate and fed
fat with juices of
the monstrous and the dead

who do we plum
cherry, spit?
does heartache fry
leaking, split?
we rotted, shameless, lick
the edge of sanity
infinitely sick

ash over and under tongue
thick coat the meat
the pink
the done
i have no spirit
flame or breath
untainted by the
angry memory of flesh

plump fast the empty whole of skin
we break the slipping
wishful thin
cut deep the slice and
ache the limb
gnaw on gently
consuming in

if we eat
down straight to bone
we hold to nothing
shaped and stoned
yet still, i eat, becoming red
i will be fatted
i will be fed

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