There are games that grown-ups play
that bleed the mind
pulling the edges of childhood scars
into distorted dreams
There are games that adults play
making up their faces
like corpses eager to attend
their own wakes
There are games that grown-ups play
bowing before nightmares
breathing life down the rotted lungs
of dead-eyed mirrors
These are games that adults play
replacing night-lights
with the friction of sweat-laden skin
pretending they are grown.
Hide in the corners of their blood-shot eyes
maybe they will not find you
take your soft fingers in theirs
and stretch you too thin, too soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NEW! See the Flickr set for this poem!
If you turn the page, does that count as turning over a new leaf? <-- More Poetry
No comments:
Post a Comment