Amnesia Lazarus
Scrub away the remnants of
emblazoned colours that have
mixed down to mud.
Settled in pore.
Scraped through every crease.
Dead finery clings in layers that
have fused over years, bringing
me closer to a man I don’t know.
Brittle skin.
Exposed to morning air.
I cut myself open and count
the secret rings of my idiocy.
If I dress this wound that mimics
a smile I may still bleed through,
yet manage the infection.
I will always rub in the salt, kick
the man when he’s down.
Like amnesia Lazarus he will
always rise again and ask for more.
Dumb, surprised, and ultimately lost.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
