Sunday, May 13, 2012

Ayelet Raziel: The Passenger IV

Under pathless suns sleep brought no day
but to frailties unwoven. I was abrasive
like black diphtheria dancing in deaf tones
mimicking glass murderers and terracotta demons.
My tongue was a bridge burned down 
by trespasses and the sad inequities of despair. 
White chances sprinkled on mirrors so I could see
my pathetic excuse of a reflection dying back at me.
I wished fatalities on myself but not by any foe
except for the greatest foe to ever blend into normality- myself.

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