Clayed by lunacy, I’m blind —
a shadowed outcast, charcoal-veined.
My arms are kites with phantom pains
of puppy fat.
The moon’s a drum and wind’s a suite for strings.
Inside my ribcage beats a toddler’s heart.
But still I’m safe;
I bought a bloodless smile on sale
and spliced it to my chest.
Today we write 55 words at toads with Kerry, after looking at the disturbing movie by Olivier de Sagazan, I wrote something that would evoke the same emotion of angst, the same emotions that you often find in the paintings of Edvard Munch. I will also link this to Poetry Pantry tomorrow.