Archive for July, 2015

The Etchings

I wish words

were bright like paint

instead of black scribbles

on a napkin

or the faded lines

on my cold skin

I wish words

were brightened hues

on a blank canvas

the loudness

attracting the deaf

and opening their eyes

pulling them in

with screeching cries

But I do not paint

I cannot draw

I only paint the words of my soul on to scraps of paper

They’re merely whispers

unengaging sighs

colouring nothing.

Words change

words die

words lose meaning

Repeat ‘love’ twenty times

it becomes deceiving.

Stare at a painting

a glistening sculpture

the adoration never fades

never floats away with the autumn breeze

or winter’s chill

I only etch my words

onto my sun-kissed skin

displaying the contents of my heart

onto the one canvas I can


words can fail

words will die

words colour the world

through only my eyes

no one else can see

the bright hues of my lines

the electric rhythms

of my soft-spoken rhymes

I cannot scream

I cannot sing

I merely whisper

the etchings of my skin



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