Little Miss Socrates (thyexecutioner) wrote in excuse_me___,
Little Miss Socrates

What a piece of work is man.


To sleep; I dream awake
eyes flutter for sunlight,
against a shadow I break:

boxing another lost fight
with each passing word
swords, tongues rich in spite.

Venomous God, my lord,
I suck the sleepy poison
from the wound she adored;

now to tip the bottle, lessen
the pain, dull the ache
not knowing the pidgin

in which we speak of late,
I confuse her utterly wanting
one more moment to wait —

she’s gone. I went walking
to discover one more shadow
misplaced in the night weeping.

Each footfall heavier I forgo
rest, my diplopic eyes creating
Niobe, the wailing widow,

Weeping into her cup filling
it with salt water, not hoping.
Tags: piece_of_work

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