Saturday, April 7, 2012

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Today I am empty
Bleached white
Of things to say.

Where are my words?
The ink on this page
Is disappearing.

I am hollowed out
In stillness
Covered in a spiderweb

Made out of whispers
Filaments that evade
And resist all attempts

To be written down.

Christine Fojas
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prompt: color: white

1 comment:

the tree said...

I don't know why you're harshing yourself on this poem. I like the way you take blood and turn it into ink and and then the words become webs.

Maybe you should come back later and see what has happened to it.

BTW, thanks for the props on my stuff.