Most read ▸
Joseph Seamon Cotter Jr.
Ashamed of my race?
And of what race am I?
I am many in one.
Thru my veins there flows the blood
Of Red Man, Black Man, Briton, Celt and Scot,
In warring clash and tumultuous riot.
I welcome all.
But love the blood of the kindly race
That swarthes my skin, crinkles my hair.
And puts sweet music into my soul.
a mouth can die
for want of mirth
and the skin for want
of a mouth to read it
coming together in
a merry lay
paper torn by those
who don't like the story
written on their body
skin
some nights i dream of open mouths
with yellow, decaying teeth
and gum sores all along the sides
andwetblistersontheirtonguestheirbreathishotandmustydominatingmysensesasthemouthssteadilyget
closer
and
closer
i always wake up just before they reach me
those rolling tongues
and hot breaths
but i can still feel them crawlingallovermyskin
i carved into my skin
hoping i could take their wounds on
as mine
they start out as red
then purple and black and green and yellow
until that sickening, infested color
seeps back into your skin
and disappears
ruffled hair
lazy trails
ice burning skin
this is not my story to tell
hushed whispers
thundering hearts
citrus candles aflame
these are not my scars
acrylic nails
soft sheets
light melodic laughs
yet my nightmares are filled with nothing else
I could easily relapse.
But I won't.
At least I think.
The urge is unbearable.
Just tear through the skin.
No one cares if you're here.
You're not important.
You don't deserve sympathy.
But I can't be a coward.
Everyone else can do it on their own, why can't I?
Why is it so hard for me to just accept that I'm alone?
On this earth filled with billions of people, I'm no one's number one.
And I never have been.
It's really not that hard of a concept.
everyone has been hurt before
they keep their bruises hidden under their skin coat
nobody stops to think about the bruises under their skin
until the sun sinks below the windowsill
some people have deep gashes covered by their bodies
the knife was driven through but didn't pierce any skin
so why did it hurt so bad?
how come every time they open their eyes they would rather staple them shut then get up and face the day?
staring at the same ceiling
every day from late night to early morning
the newborn sunlight iluminates my freshly torn skin
as my eyes look upwards
burning after a long time of not closing
by now I know every dent
every scratch and bump
my limbs weigh more than the ocean
they stay glued to my tough sheets
the expression plastered upon my face is one of great concern
the thoughts running marathons around my head
the white ceiling knows me off
it knows my bones
my dimples and every freckle
I want to stop looking at it
but I am addicted
Blood, red hot like fury, burning through her skin
Metal piercing not just her flesh, but her entire being
A single tear drips from her eye, cold, as if she were already dead
She wants to wrap her hands around her body
She wants to feel her warm skin, to tell herself she's still there
But the only warmth is that of the blood seeping from her veins
Draining out of her and onto the hard floor
And she seeps with it
She is no longer there
I took the skin of corpses
And dyed them blue for dreams
Oh I can wear these everywhere
(I sat home in my jeans).
I cut the hair of corpses
And wove myself a sheath
Finer than silk or wool I thought
And shivered underneath
I cut the ears of corpses
To make myself a hood --
Warmer than forget-me-nots
I paid for that in blood.
I robbed the eyes of corpses
So I could face the sun
But all the days had cloudy skies
And I had lost my own.