Sometimes I imagine your body rupturing all over
your fractured skeleton jutting out of the tears
your shell would hang in tatters like a designer dress
framed in flattering, canted angles
and then you’d be the astounding
that you always wanted to be
Prompt: Something New
Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days.
Something old, something borrowed, something blue… something bloody. Something that comes from a genuine place, out of genuine concern, albeit one laced with that little bit of inevitable malice.
I am following my own schedule this year, it seems, taking breaks and whatnot, but I am determined to make it to 31 this time. By nook or, more likely, by crook.