(You just knew I would end up in the poetry forum. Now I will never leave!)
Er... this is my first poem on Gaia since my new account. I love feedback (feeeeeeeeeeeed me feedback) and criticism of the useful and coherent variety is more than welcome.
I wrote this about five minutes ago.
The Thorn.
(to stop hurting you) you turn
your face
away from me;
say I make you
sick -
I make you sick.
and with only words,
you make me become
the thorn.
I, the illness
that twists your stomach;
I,
the venom
that poisons your breath;
I speak as
your treacherous,
torturous disease:
oh, god,
what I'd give to be
free of your veins.
oh, my enemy and creator,
the thorn in your skin
would die to
return to its vine
and just be.(find more at any time at
the world in words.)
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