not here

KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
edited March 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
so soft its almost not there
a whisper on the lips of the mute
sitting, looking from your chair
why don't you have a face?
only a mirror and black hood appear

a flower is set on the sidewalk
by some mannequin hand of God
to stop you from this planned out talk
up the stairs of stone you go
at the door with key in hand, you let it drop

finally the door swings open
and there's nothing inside but your thoughts
you look down at the key in your hand
all that it seems to represent is lost
as it changes to a knife, and then to sand

you feel a gag and its the key again
somehow in your mouth, and you push
push it out of your lips onto your palm
and then suddenly its the knife again

you don't know what to do
so you stab
you stab

but it doesn't hurt
you're no longer trapped
no longer hurting
no longer
no
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Post edited by Unknown User on

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