melancholy

caged,
in the communal studio,
with the white white walls.
forced,
to stare
into purple-shadowed eyes
and duplicate in charcoal.
dafydd paints apples,
rotting,
from his teethmarks.
and he bleached his hair
since he discovered art.
we came here,
to feel something.
i,
to find my heart.
now,
i oversleep on purpose,
sick of waking in the dark.

Reviews

[there is no more from m..]

what a gratee poem i loved it :-)

[Lola Nation]

Ed said it all.

[Ed Hart]

what are we going to do with you? you of the perfect white balanced lines...you of the ongoing unanswered heart...you of the bleached and precise words...you of the inner beauty...