Steal Toed Skunk
There're things much worse than being alone.
Like a stream of cold words cutting to the bone.
Or bruises blooming like lilacs on the face of innocents.
There's always a steel-toed skunk in a field of mint.
Nobody wants to spend their precious days
navigating paths of eggshell. and broken glass.
You don't notice the petals or bells anymore, only the horn of the coming train crash.
Day upon day you dust off the mask
because that's what dusters are expert at.
They put on rose-scented glasses and tap shoes.
Sashay into yet another flinch-battered day.
Hoping there's a patch of robin egg blue.
To temper that vast quilt of blackish decay.
One thing is always in fashion,
that polka-dot pattern of escalation.
Pinnacle of pins and green desperation.
A shallow pond of apology and reconciliation.
Things turn sweet to sour at the speed of light.
A honeymoon never shows you its darkest side.
Once there were diamonds, now there's only slag -
It's past time for a nonchalant lift off that icy crag.
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.
