Fall Solace (Remorse the Sluaghter) by Justin Thomas Squires


Rate this Poem (5 best)

 

Im sorry if I felt a need to kill you
to spill your blood, like I sometimes do
to tare a canvas that wreaks of you
peel back your flesh, and show what's true.

I felt your skin part beneath my blade
I take apart what seemed flawlessly made
to feel you cringe as the red sept through
a solid gesture as I reconstruct you

a false gesture made upon empty hands

the skylight dims
and the shades do change
to cluttered yellows from spasmatic greens
I breath in the air, as if you never were

dampened inside me, stains of disease
I did to you whatever I pleased
a sign that the fall will surely come
is rememberance of you, for whom I shun

and I never do get away with it "scott free"
becuase your anger still weakends me
and your cries, your tears, your blood, and your hurtful lips
A fall is the crude messenger, that will forever
remind me
of it.


-Justin Thomas Squires
Contact me @ www.myspace.com/crudehaven