Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Cassandra, prt II

I am sick,
thrashing for motive
in a whimpering body -
splitting spirits,
clinging to the immodesty
and  torrid censorship of myself.

Broken carelessly into splinters,
maybe I’m getting what i deserve -
recollections of thematic moans
as I swoon in the hour glass of my shape.
I am exactly where I am supposed to be,
Bursting out of this chorus inside of me;
In a breaking daylight,
I am somebody that I used to know.
Copyright 2010-2012. PomonaLIFE, All Rights Reserved.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.