Tue, 05/27/2014 - 15:07 -- Elder

With every chance I take to talk,

My emotions become mixed.

You said we need to talk

And I don’t know what to say,

Though sharp words bottled up

Are awaiting their escape.

But I can’t bring myself

To cut you with these razors,

My porcelain doll,

For fear of the scars

I might create with these hands,

With my lips and my tongue.

So I bite them all in vain, but

Cracked porcelain is just as sharp,

And callouses still are flesh

So I bleed, crimson like my love,

Then black as the darkness,

As the candle you once snuffed

With the softness of your lips,

And the silk of your breath.


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