Head in Hands
Drowned in grey,my mind, windswept,
breaks again, skulls sutures
blown, holes where
thoughts leak and fester.
I push at the black,
words dance and trip,
jigsaws tumble, unfitting
serrated edginess
rests, wronged.
Heavy just feels,
touches pressing
displaces rationale
until empty rattles,
filling the space
that was once there.
Poetry by shells
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Written on 2010-11-18 at 00:20
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by shellsLatest textsReflectionFall and Rise Silent Self Unsettled Taking Control |
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