18+ a trippy poem about pulling out my guts, my words, and lettings others poke around. |
- My Inner Out Mare- by Keaton Foster \ On the table My guts Just nuts Bits and pieces Of who I am What I’ve become All of it Spread out wide Each part exposed Every role Now quite known An increasingly dull blade In my steady hand Like a skilled surgeon Like a proficient madman Never was I forced In this Or any other way I did what I did Little is the regret Mountains of others things Are pilled upon this chest Laboring is every breath My jaded heart Pumps blood like oil The veins in this body Ruptured atrocities Leaving me As pale as death As weak as sin This My inner out mare Is now quite free For all to dare see Some will come A greater distance Others will move closer Just a few will scream As they run In the other direction A thing of tragic beauty Has been revealed All that I’ve ever penned Has been pulled out Strewn about Poked with sticks Picked up Slammed back down My rotting corpse Will no doubt be accosted Raped of any and all Remaining usage Only then will My inner out mare Remain In this place of ends In this wilderness of words Created by me And my maladjusted Mind, body, and soul… My Inner Out Mare Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015. |