Mucus merges into hollowed, clotted whites
As firm as thigh, as round as discs
The contortionist arrives, tangled in unyielding havoc
Twisting like a deadened fig in the summer breeze
Flopping upon the desolate shore, yearning for life
Bubbling solace halted like a stone scraping the bottom of the ocean
Spewing melancholy gusts as the wind claws down
Upon the frail limbs flattened to the knitted underbelly
Secreting suns, daylight encroaches
Moons penetrate, darkness scathes
Dimming bleariness
Wow. Fuck this. I have serious writer's block right now. This is what happens when other things are on my mind. Thanks, return to classes.
I will have to finish this poem this weekend then, I suppose.
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