[skinny.]
60 Curves of joy; and yet so malice. Picking skin 'til reds of callus.
50 Slits to form, and thoughts to bleed. No longer by paper, this blood is greed.
40 My sight is blurred, and fuzzy and dark. 'Give me bone!' is all the dogs bark.
30 Collar, hip, rib, and shoulder. Hallow me out. Show the beholder.
20 Lie to me, beauty, for that is all you can do. Contort my vision and sculpt me into you.
10 Pitter and patter; 'tis bloody art. Weighed by death in which I shall be part.
. . .
YOU ARE READING
Still Sane
Poetry"... But that's okay, because despite all of this, I am still sane."
