Poem -
Sick
My sick little funny honey
With anger in her heart
What will you do when you finally break
But get on your knees and pray to me
Place your head into my hands
Hope that this time I behave
Beg that I pick the demons out of you
Like dead flies from the windowsill
Goddess without man you hoped
That I would save you tonight
Though I could hurt you just as bad
If you tried to reach my soul
I have burned like a woman scorned
And eaten men in my sleep
You will ask me once and again
To save you from my salvation
And you will rot until it kills you
Because I meant to break your heart.
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Comments
Some fantastic imagery...yet the whole thing seems as if it were written with a heart of flint!
Cold, cruel...and brilliantly written.
J ;)
Thank you! Yeah it is a cold one isn't it! Been reading a lot of plath lately and was definitely trying to channel her cold brillianceĀ
Nice poem
Thanks
top of the foodchain, saturated with intelligence, wit and a bit of cynicism; makes for a good poetic stew, I enjoyed this, compliments to the chef D.... cheers poet
Thank you so much Christopher! I've followed your page look forward to reading your words ?ā¤ still feel like a bit of a stranger on here but im hoping to get to know everyone better. Thank you for reading ??