First Version
Prompt: Karma

A pale, effortless, branding past
impressed across sliver ridges ringing
around the center of your fingertip. Scarred.

A reminder to the black speckled
cavity in your skull that your face must
wince when you hear the blue jays sing in your canal.
That your tongue must swell when you bring the coldest,
purest mountain water to your lips.
That your eyes must cloud when you wake to sunrise.
And that your skin must unravel when you dance on a swaying golden hillside.

A paralyzing fate of serving time with your eyes closed.
A malfunctioning matter revoking the right to breathe.
A matter in the hands of others judging side by side.
Twisting their calloused thumbs, soft palms,
and crooked knuckles.
Judging the way you blink.
Judging the way you dictate lost words.
Judging the way you grasp your thoughts in the upper left corner.

Buckles choke your veins, numbing your limbs.
Wires weave violently about the scratched Northern Oak.
Rustic tap water seeps through the black ink veil,
washing away the fear from your brow.
Screams from Hell scoff at your throat;
Death breathing in the mask now.
Voices muffle, chatter, enrage.
Impatient now.
No health benefits and
long hours pulls the switch now.

21 grams

l i g h t e r,

1 comment:

Jenna said...

woah lauren this speaks. The poem like lives its that realistic. I love the word choice. Seriously make being a writer as a minor and art as your major. YAY lauren rocks at writing poems =)