I am blue like her veins;
reddened and weary
as the clotting
of polish on a stocking
about to run.

I ran once
on a December night-
nineteen years old,
bones showing through
my cords.

Nowhere to go,
nowhere to grow
but inward,
forced by the constraint
of owning nothing

growing grievances
deep inside of me.

And I know it's over now
but I can't forget
on days when I awake
and the elements have crystallized
while I slept-

confronting me
in all of their clarity.

Poetry by intothehaze
Read 750 times
Written on 2005-10-16 at 16:08

Tags Constraint  Clarity  Veins 

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