Art & Design Magazine


By Colloquial Wordsmiths

There is happy woven on a sweater

 Veiling a chest, blue, with disgust;

Only if the euphoria hid in my cold hair.

Pathetic poetry and shaking hands are good metaphors,

 Easy words and difficult paraphrase; charcoal white,

 A bruised, battered soul; all fit so snugly together.

Walk away from winds and they have arms.

They put you back to the pedestal you moved on from.

Incomplete sentences, complete battles and imagery

Smoke you like kisses of stranger boys.

No home, despite the concrete you call

So such helplessness often smears adulteration

On your tainted bone walls.

Failing mix tapes, vain lyrics still instigate

Frozen flesh; you aren’t yet numb

So you walk firmly in the long lost war.



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