dead man's teal
bad poetry, oh noetry
Originally uploaded by fakeplastic. wiping an eyelash from my cheek
my wristbone creaks
a flaw in an otherwise well-oiled machine
earlier, a man looking sideways
gaping pathetically at the changes i had made to god's image of me
a pisces baby to be buried at sea
an underwater grave
not to be remembered by equally deceased floral arrangements
later, a warped gift box
full of dates and words
letters, not significant to me
the world to someone else
(written by me, not sylvia plath)