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markbousfield

Wigan originally but lived in London for a long time now so it feels like home.

Member Since 2006

Followers 48 Following 64

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Thursday Dec 21, 2006

Dec 21, 2006
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I am edifice to your black coffee,
I am sacrament to your bleakest sunrise,

Yet still you seem to want,
you seem to desire what you so easily and readily discarded,
The ribbons of the scar you left inside of me,
yes,
you lay upon me like a burying gown,
the softest of all cloths,
ironic as the goosed flesh of death has no need for it's sensitivity.

This slow purge,
this catharsis,
inch by inch,
plug by plug,
blood by blood.

When we have been the same thing at the same time,
the same body, the same flesh, the same misery
I find I am no longer co-joined to the idea.

I am released.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
sian_the_zombie:


Dec 23, 2006
huck:
another goodun you son of a bitch

merry christmas etc smile
Dec 25, 2006

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