April 3, 2016 § Leave a comment

Realisation comes in tumults,

in rings and rivulets of lust mistaken to love

below your black-heeled toe.


Leave me for a rotten penny on the sidewalk

because I equate myself to Shakespeare’s great heroes

with honeyed poetry on their lips

and sharp tongues that make wounded women

dead with hearts on their sleeves

and open eyes staring to a heaven

that cannot accept such wanton lust.


And I am penning poetry to a stranger

in a dirty train station with the sound of rain

booming like thunder along the tracks,

as if the words unspoken, gaze unwanted

can somehow turn this lust to love.



Tagged: , , , , , , , ,

What are your thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading 03.04.16 at Scarring Words.


%d bloggers like this: