Untitled
My mangling of words
begins again.
I chain up syllables
and thrash them with punctuation,
twisting them into
emotion,
stitching them together
to offer to you.
Severed letters
pile on the bloody floor.
Keeping only
the oozing essence of the body
I lay them
quivering
on the page.
They beg you to read them,
(save them),
but they can expect
a lifetime of torture
until I lay with
my dark mistress
in the earthly bed.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2007
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