Friday, March 11, 2011


(Pre-Script: This poem will melt you if you read it as the song, "Between the Lines," #28 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

What if I slipped through the cracks
in the floor
(the floor was made of tile and I had turned to liquid)
so there was no trace of where
I had once stood,
of if I had stood there at all,
a solid being on a solid surface?
What if I became liquid
from the inside out,
the blood poured out of my heart,
and congealed first inside my chest cavity,
what looked like a purple black bruise
from the outside,
and eventually saturated through bone,
vital organs,
any connecting tissues,
what muscle tone I had once earned and maintained,
and finally skin,
all bloodied now,
all only blood now,
from inside, from the inside
of this solid shape of me.


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