To whom it may concern:
By Phalanx
What is this film on my skin?
I peel like a newborn.
I equate to nothing
When I knock on flesh andÂ
Listen for an echo.
This is truly an out of body experience.
The soul had to save itself.
Maniquins performing rites of passage
Talking to dead selves.
We are alone here.
Love crawls in to bury itself.
Men kill their shadows
Out of suspicion.
The sun hides it's face and
Flowers die.
Call me home
When you're done.
This is a battle field,
Not Eden.
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Copyright 2015 Phalanx
Published on Thursday, March 26, 2015.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Author's Note:
This is the price of feeling the dirt between your toes.Comments on "To whom it may concern:"
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