Sheets wrapped around me, pulled tight like a coocoon. Let the dead die, the living live. I roll over and wrap myself safer, the dead will never die once they've lived. Walk to the window and kiss the moon goodnight. She pulls away my sheet and stares down at what I am protecting. With a million tears, she tells me to let the dead die, let the living live. But if you've ever lived, you cannot ever die. Standing at the mirror, I can't bear to see what's inside. Yet she still manages to reach out and touch my face. She wipes away the eyeliner and lipstick with mascara smudged fingers, and sees me for who I am. With glassy eyes, and silver hands, she shatters her entire world to leave lipstick plea's. let the dead die, and the living live. but they were so alive, they cannot die. Begging at your stone, praying not up, but down. I can still feel your fingers strip away the clothes, and your eyes strip away the skin. Can still hear you say that scars make you who you are. These scars aren't me, I refuse to believe that's who I am. I make who I am, and I didn't make these. And in response to a beggar's prayer, you give me a beggar's answer- The dead died. The living still live. Charley
Reason for writing:
I wrote this because I have some scars that someone else gave me, and my boyfriend rally did tell me that scars make us who we are. This is to him, because his goddess is the moon goddess, and he's always telling me to let things go, and I can't. The last two lines are to be taken as writen on his headstone. He's a wonderful person, and I love him. I wrote this sort of dark, out of respect for him, not meaning it to sound like I want him dead. It's a respect thing. anyway, I think this is awsome, not to inflate my own ego, but oh well!
Birth sign: Pisces
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by charley.