Thursday, February 21, 2013

Blooming into the Black

Rose blooming in December
When steam cleans your brain stem,
When your eyes leak and your ears bleed,
Your fingernails pried off, your kneecaps shattered,
Your skin sliced with scars and blood,
You wait, unanswered.

Blinds block your view of the street below,
Clogged with cars and pedestrians,
Their upturned umbrellas blooming into the black sky.
Your desire for sunshine wiped away,
You smile at your own demise.

You yearn to be a martyr,
To be the only one willing to die.
You think dreams are something you can choose,
But the worst nightmares come for those
Who least expect them.