PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That we bear the same tattoo

as the comatose masses filing down a grey corridor

that our faces look too similar

when the gravestone eyelids and pieces of steel

are covertly plucked and stored for the evening

This is the truth that must remain hidden

                 at peril of another slit-wrist suicide

       (excuses are easy to find if you look)



But as deep bloody pin-rings through

             our lips and our labias

as sullen demeanours and chemical stained folicles

as carefully positioned steak-knife slashes

in the night black shade

                       we chose our masques



           And is not blindness a beautiful thing?

that the fool sings still at escarpment's edge

                  (eyes covered in cloth)

that we parade our sorrow in unabashed joy

              in unfettered confidence of our self-doubt

marching together in our legions of solitude?



              But in the dim flickering light

                we can pretend we are alone