Red Marks Door
Posture riddled little girl
soul of soot and mind of curl,
standing there alone on brink
entrance, exit in a blink.
There she stands
steal in hands,
thoughts undress,
cool blades press,
time holds still,
gushes spill,
red marks door
her warm pour,
entrance, exit in a blink
no time left for her to think.
(rhyme, something i rarely write...i love my metaphors in free style and it has always been my first choice, but i like to try other forms)
Copyright © Sandra Adams | Year Posted 2012
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