Pointless, Pointless


United States

She touches me and pulls away

as if my skin is rotting flesh,

littered with whirring,

ravenous flies.


My skin, dark as the shroud

that invades my bedroom every night

that once led to soaked sheets

and parental roars.


Her skin, white as the fresh milk

I drank every morning as a child,

unburned by blemishes that riddle mine.


Every time my quiet brown eyes

stare at her fierce, bright blues I utter,  

“Pointless, pointless.” 

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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