to occur in such a rhythm
splitting ends in tendons
like ribbons on presents
no longer present a victim
but such that you see
so clear and meek breathing
the slow seething
lost in dreaming at sea
i must be a martyr
to a smarter game you play
just to stay the same
like any less insane farther
i seek what fortune
you place in porcelain
like your face to pray
to sin, a god's grace
in plain view of the sill
overlooking the mill in two
such perplexions
suicide in succession until
in plain view i see
such a lonesome dream of you
let loose of the seams
till it cleans and seek true
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
