Like thorns punched
through pleading flesh
or words woven
into razor wire
catch me
tug and hang, tug and hang
White petals painted
with red spots
catch and spin on the wire
and my heart speeds in fear
of one who is not near
Gentle breeze
flutters my soul
the splotched white smears
petals on wire thorns
all that is left


© W.R.R. 1/31/2003

About W.R.R.

Bipolar & survivor of incest/child sex abuse and adult male rape; bisexual, polyamorist, poet/writer/advocate & married father of four. View all posts by W.R.R.

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