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Contributed by Arijadna77 on Sunday, 27th April 2008 @ 11:39:05 PM in AEST
Topic: abstract

They come in the morning, wrapped in the plastic bags;
They come in the morning, demanding their own;
They come in the morning, to be my ear they are pretending;
Squeezing with wires, taking out all the life fluids.
Tiny, invisible;
They come in the morning, and they look like playboy calendar.
Never the same:
In my cup of coffee,
In my cigarette smoke.
They come in the morning, sitting on the edges of my lips,
Digging through my forehead;
They come in the morning, swallowing nightmares from the last night,
And creating Life-Death.
Waving from my back, look like wings.
Tiny, invisible;
They lie,
They say I can fly!
They come in the morning, in my cold milk, floating in the foam,
Melting in my saliva.
They come in the morning.
They come in the morning.
They come in the morning.
And I want them to leave.

Copyright © Arijadna77 ... [ 2008-04-27 23:39:05]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: none (User Rating: 1 )
by SilverRain on Saturday, 10th May 2008 @ 12:02:17 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

You have a way to write very descriptive almost tangible poems that take the reader inside your head. I appreciate and really enjoy your work. Please keep them coming.

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