I am the kumquat, theoretically speaking.
What a fruit--like my friends,
like my life.
Pomegranates floating in mid air
like bubbles and popsicle sticks…
so sickeningly sweet:
like the vomit from a drunken night,
like the lips of a sweetheart,
like the belly of a newborn.
Dropping down, falling,
down to the ground, and
So alone, so very alone.
never a companion to dry my eyes,
never a lover to kiss my pain away.
Destroyed and devastated by those who surround me,
trepidant of what I may find, and
So afraid, so very afraid.
never the one to walk alone,
never the one to forge ahead.
My mind of glass and steel comprised.
My soul of stone and granite made.
Trapped, entranced, contained within nothing,
Bruised and beaten, tired and sore.
My painted face:
eyes leaking,
mouth drooping.
Oh, festering orgasm of death,
festering wormhole of life
(so overly ripe)
Fallen from the trees, off the branches,
down to the ground, and
So alone, so very alone.
Reason for writing:
I think that the poem is rather self-explanatory.
Birth sign: Not entered
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