Morass
April 26, 2014
My thighs flatten
on the seemingly hard surface
I am collapsing bit by bit
into the heap
in a last ditch
effort to find
my backbone
I try to levitate
to rise
out of the days quicksand
For a fragile moment
my spastic thrashing
opens a sliver of space
leaving a precious first impression
of my own weightlessness
Until I am sucked back down
a hundred unborn hands
griping my ankles
my painted toes pointing
the way
I am what is left
of the struggling stain
my mortal remains
sitting alone in my bathrobe
Naked and trying to stay afloat.
1 comments
The title is the key. Nice, dark one!
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