plant flowers where my head has gone

there is a willow
whistling
outside the gates of my cave
I willed my skin
to turn to granite
the eye of the moon
winks
at the passing hope train
there is no shame
scratching the scab of pain
prepare your sacrificial heart
love misunderstood
feeds on blood
the mind
visits home every Sunday
my due date
was written in the sky
plans
pick up pace and fly out the door
ahead of
hearts glued to feet
I think I’ll
marry
my tomb

plant flowers where my head has gone

Lisa  Jewell

Joined July 2007

  • Artwork Comments 54

Artwork Comments

  • Erin Lyall
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  • Lisa  Jewell
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