| operations | | 0. | | 0. | comment |
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| 1. | | parent_author | "" |
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| parent_permlink | hive-111825 |
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| author | warpedpoetic |
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| permlink | charred-bones |
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| title | "Charred bones" |
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| body | "I make a home out of ruined bodies,
Ghost doors opening into charred bones,
The kitchen sink still leaking last night’s bloodletting.
I scrub the floor before I slip in, embrace the god
Of weariness, just to watch the roof cave in
From blunt trauma, concussion, the percussion
Of living too quick—cigarette flare, drag, burn & butt.
I dwell in the darkest room, where silence sleeps
Like a tired cat, curled on the ledge, hoping
That the sun, the moon, the gloating stars see.
The bed is against the wall, a flat surcease
that carries my blood before the goddess of memory.
I make water out of thirst, the desert's desire
unquenched on the slow peeling walls.
From the oesophagus of silence, i fetch
sorrow with my cupped hands—an unrocked cradle—
I give it a name that is unpronounceable—speaking
in tongues used by a god too blind to see
the world tumbles into oblivion.
I wash the charred facade with the ochre of dust
the way Sahara burnishes the blood of stragglers.
Gods, I bathe in the corruption between sweetness
& pain. I do not walk out of this homemade horror,
this poorly stitched pretence at existence.
I dwell, a sentient temple of forgotten things.
I survive, a caricature of love unfurled for
every forgiving hand to touch & say amin.
***
[Image Credit: Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/illustrations/drawing-charcoal-art-illustration-785197/)
***
**Always,
Osahon (Warpedpoetic)**" |
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| json_metadata | {"tags":["poetry","life","charred","bones","ocd","loneliness"],"image":["https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/warpedpoetic/RMvi4tZw-drawing-785197_960_720.jpg"],"links":["https://pixabay.com/illustrations/drawing-charcoal-art-illustration-785197/"],"app":"steemit/0.2","format":"markdown"} |
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