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Wednesday, September 18, 2002
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(crappy in progress images and sortof poetry)
And I'll wear tulips wrapped around me
in places that were once strong and bright.
Their petals will touch my skin, cold and soft,
and linger where once your two lips did.
(warm. wet. the antithesis of honour)
And knowing me I'll continue to move.
Automaton arms and legs,
shifting in a jagged danse as you play on.
disjointed.
I'll shamble where your finger points,
porcelain limbs clacking together as
I sit and stand and walk where you say.
My complacence is easily comandeered
(crackthe whip and clip the chain. say the word that kills)
but not my heart. never my heart.
We'll empty me of the life within
like pouring cold oysters from the shell
obliviate all traces that I am inside
except the sadness which will puddle at my feet,
silver mercury pooling in the impressions.
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