Wearing thin like yards of fabric:
Silk, satin, they should have felt soft.
A gentle touch instead of scratchy threads
worn out in places that shouldn’t have been.
Holes chewing through fabric,
burning through cloth
all patchy and worn and so beyond whole
that it is just itself
without the w.
The emptiness becomes more
than the togetherness
and it can no longer be called full
or even half full
when it is gaping,
starving to be filled.
Wearing thin like a light sweater against pouring rain,
rough weather that likes to tear apart things into shreds,
throwing umbrellas about and listen:
bones crack and metal twists
in all the ways that is unholy
like a marionette past its time
or a single person
trying to finish the show
even as they are bleeding
all the while.
Wearing thin like the skeleton
that bursts through skin,
protruding in ways that make people wonder if
it is grotesque,
or just another form of modern art.
Cheeks hollowed out,
becoming pumpkins on not just Halloween
and the candle lights barely flickering
in the eyes so tired and worn.
Shadows become more like tattoos
than something that should have been temporary
and able to soften in the light.
Wearing thin like a human,
life stretching them like elastics,
only to snap with a single whisper.
That fragility of wearing thin
and still going
even as we’re about to vanish
into thin air.
The second verse, with the modern art line is one of my favourite lines. I usually never have any stand outs where I think, “wow, I’m really proud of that one,” but it was just so surprisingly striking, even though I was just spitballing. Also, it seems as if my poetry is getting the most hits, so I may do more poetry than I already am in the future. Thanks for reading !
Time Taken: 22 min.
Word Count: 240