Tuesday, 23 June 2015

untitled. pain

i would be gasping
white-knuckled rapping the wood 'til they turn turnip red

i would be feeling better
if i bled

an overt feeling
to be scorched by the sun

i would lament ever opening my heart
again
again and again

am i insignificant
am i
i am

otherwise why would you do it?

chill me
like a drought
in sudden southern rains

KatYa © 2015