Dreaming peacefully.

She’s Weeping in a piercing hopeless pain

At smiling, sharp boned anorexics cut-

Ting the air with their razor-edge framework.

A treacle leaking wound smears the dark drain

With slick wickedness as you stretch idly. But

For her crouching apathy she would leave lurk-

Ing for a fleshy existence; without this strain.

As it is she remains here, strut-

Ting like a toxic, bobbing cork.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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