ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
i think of bones
those soft edges of my starving dog,
blank curves
thick, and the sort of blunt that was never any sharper
and they feel like broken knuckles
my cat is stacks of
poking ribs and bleached-bare haunches and restless,
bristling skin
the color of a fat moon and a skinny handful of dark
i prod my nails onto sharp tips and empty corners
let them run up the flesh like a blade,
like braille
she says why,
because they look like death, i say
and they feel like a crowded subway,
she tells me, stop, she says -
don't you already know what death looks like?
{don't you?}
those soft edges of my starving dog,
blank curves
thick, and the sort of blunt that was never any sharper
and they feel like broken knuckles
my cat is stacks of
poking ribs and bleached-bare haunches and restless,
bristling skin
the color of a fat moon and a skinny handful of dark
i prod my nails onto sharp tips and empty corners
let them run up the flesh like a blade,
like braille
she says why,
because they look like death, i say
and they feel like a crowded subway,
she tells me, stop, she says -
don't you already know what death looks like?
{don't you?}
apparently my poetry is becoming my new journal. not very proud of this one; another entry.
© 2014 - 2024 LeftUnfinished
Comments6
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
It's got some interesting imagery, but you're right; something's a little off about this piece. It DID however, hook me.