The Death of Words

Poet Girl Em

prone cold on forest floor buried
in a ratted nest of torn pages

crumpled, tossed
in bloody autumn shades of pain

stale air hushes
— gusts the death of words

arboretum canopy covers
tucked in a winter wild with chaos

fabric shreds hang off limbs
dirtied hiding from time’s abuse

fucked by wealth of words
— errantly used

stung by false love
crash-and-burned

reaching out a hand
a skeleton in thin skin

picking out refrains
from rotting teeth

spitting out prose
that failed

bonfire wails
of voices killed

from inside
spilled

~ Emily C.

2.22.17

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1 Comment

  1. risham can i write a poem as an answer( not actually an answer coz there ain’t no question in this) poem, just let’s call it tribute to the spitting prose thrown from a rotting teeth held by skeleton hand thin as a carcass of a baby who just left his mother’s womb.

    Liked by 1 person

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