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CellarOwl
03-17-2010, 12:35 PM
Ephemeral,
a dream.

There are no beaches here,
no wizards or palaces.
Desperate throngs of people do not throw themselves
at my feet,
infatuated with lust
and myth.

Instead, I imagine myself
as a moth with great wings,
buried
in rumpled sweaters
and the frail, yellowed bindings of ancient books.
I hide from your gaze--
or try to...
fearful of your withered hands
(heavy and crumbling as old brick),
and the boot imprints
left by some instant, jutting rage.
These sudden confrontations
were not meant for a boy
of paper skin.

I have dreamt this a thousand times or more,
always caught below
the dull thud of your fist.
Elusion is of no value.
Escape is meaningless.

Each time you shatter my heart
I offer only dust in return.

Funndeath
03-17-2010, 12:51 PM
These sudden confrontations
were not meant for a boy
of paper skin.
I specially liked that bit. Your work impresses me each time. :)

CellarOwl
03-18-2010, 07:45 AM
wooooo fuck yeah! :)