Papyrus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I'm never sure about my poetry, this one even less so.

Submitted: November 22, 2015

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Submitted: November 22, 2015

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Smother me with your words, for I am a book
shaken and fallen to the floor
spilling ink from my pages of bone. You promised
to be the cloth for my cut. You are the
light to my moth-like soul, as I am
flustered upon the darkness.

My spine has been bent too many times,
only to moan at every touch, a hiss
in the throat of each binding. Each
prick of the pen left me with scars of gold,
upon my parchment tongue.
I kissed each of your knuckles, weeping
blood from grazed brick and rust.

All of our dances in the spring,
spent in a swell of dandelion seeds and a 
lemon flavoured breeze. What will we do,
when our last memory is the one we no longer share?

Don't leave me to tear the fabric
of my own heart, without the needle made 
from our shared cartilage. Shower
my papyrus with the rains of your body,
until I crinkle, crease and become weak with
burden.
Ruin me, in every which way with your being. 


© Copyright 2020 AlanaLouiseMcDermott. All rights reserved.

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