Vanishing


Vanishing

 

Two hands clutch
at my neck,
calloused and steady,
they peel

me apart, one papery
layer at a time.
They don’t ask to
stretch and unravel

my hair like yarn,
nor for the strength
of my teeth and blood.
Plucked and oozing

I drip against cold metal,
I’m caught in momentum,
I hold tight
As my bones crack

and fizzle, and my thoughts
are sucked
into some black hole
in the center.

The bell hums
my last revolution,
and I’m only a fingerprint,
greasy on smooth glass:

I cling,
I linger,

I’m smeared,
I’m wiped clean.

 

sinfulsunday

 

Vanishing was last modified: September 11th, 2014 by Penny

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