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:iconvagabond-arcadia: More from Vagabond-Arcadia

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Submitted on
January 18, 2013
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Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
If I trace my fingertips along blood lines dripping
from scars in cement
blocks. If I trace them they will run.
If I trace them they will stop.

If I am high off bathroom cleaner fumes,
settling in my hair, and if I inhale just enough
(not too little, not
too much, just enough), and
if I do it all for one crackling smile (yours, mine, who's
to say, really?)

If my layers blow away into worse
than nothing. If I smoke until my lungs are black
as cancer, dry as lecture,
sore as death.

If I hate myself. If I become

If I do it all in the name of the poet's God, a figure
more distant than yours, stone-hearted,
earthly. If I do it all for the sake of my own mistakes,
begging blindly to bodyless feet.

If it's all for a chance to be
beautiful, to be good at something other
than suffering. If I know I am wrong, but the other
half has been erased, eroded by glasspaper sand.

If I do it not for myself, but for everyone
who has ever stared, eyes and hearts
too empty for silence. If I do it for the children,
souls reaching out with
needy hands, snatching words of love from the storefronts,
the billboards exalted on high.
Friday is misery.
Add a Comment:
travelgirlxx Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2013
This is harsh, but beautiful in its pleading.
Vagabond-Arcadia Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you :nod: <3
travelgirlxx Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2013
Aborro Featured By Owner Jan 22, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
I really like the first half.
Add a Comment: