A Sunday piece. Sundays are always horrible for me.


Unbroken

i walk on eggshells
just to feel
the ivory crack beneath
and splatter yolks
like children's eyes
fragile in their homes

i walk on eggshells
just to feel
my own veins crack beneath
and fall apart
like splintered wood
nestled in my skin

i bring the egg
just to break
the boundaries of myself
and filter through
like embryos
ripping from the womb

i bring the egg unbroken.



Poetry by Seraphina
Read 390 times
Written on 2007-06-13 at 19:32

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