It's been done. To death, if you'll pardon the rather rude pun. Login to Kupika  or  Create a new account 
 

This diary entry is written by HoldStill. ( View all entries )
 
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It's been done. To death, if you'll pardon the rather rude pun.Category: (general)
Thursday, 24 March 2011
04:21:30 AM (GMT)
The world doesn't need another poem
about silver blades and skin
(oh, here we go again)
about surrogate tears, red,
shed from the arm

It's already overfull of the comparison to a metal kiss
(and kisses can't possibly feel like that
anyway, can they?)

It would be superfluous to address the urge as "you"
and talk to it like an old friend, with whom
I parted on absolutely dreadful terms
(we are more civil than that, anyway)

And no one wants to hear any more about
the excitement—no, joy—no, relief
of watching something happen
exactly the way I want it to
for once in my damn life


Which leaves me with just this feeling,
worthless,
because all the words for it
have already been chewed up and spit out.

                                                        ~ dolorem-ipsum


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