Buckets
My room flooded.
My carpets got soaked.
I hung my room out to dry.
Never has water been so uninvited, yet so present.
Never has there been more.
I hung myself out to dry.
I cried buckets...
I miss it
To watch the meniscus unsheathe
The grandeur of it
why...
(found out that i'm not entirely a sociopath either... my emotions are unfeigned; at times. For what do you do when you find out that you're 100% incapable of emotions. to find out you're less than animal. what.)
-Damp captain
6 comments:
very nice.. this is my first time here.. i perused a few other pieces of your work,, and i think i will mark you in my reader.. you seem to have a melancholy opaque to your words...as do i... very nice indeed......
This is a nice one Ben. x.
i agree. been a long time since you posted your last poem. keep it coming
The lonliness in this poem is haunting.
hahah, well writerwoman, haunting IS a lonely job.
sharon - a priase from you is a millon dollars
paisely - your stuff is much more sophisticated than mine, so i deem it incomparable. which make's YOUR praise worth a million bucks too.
now i've got two million bucks. i'm buying a yacht. : )
oi update la
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