It’s funny isn’t it?

It’s funny isn’t it?

Or maybe the joke is only for me
that I suppose
the lids that had damned me continuously
will flutter to a close in a heartbeat
(or so perhaps someday
hopefully  when I’m safely tucked
to sleep) never to open, but only
to shadows pin-pricked in
champagne bliss.

Someday perhaps
parting flesh and dimples and moles
and droopy lashes and tacky lines and ghost
Fair pale turning ash, turning cold
turning stone and I’d have to dance
the rest of my gray-scale life
six feet above your cement grove.

Someday perhaps
My saints, my demons, my creaking bones.

Advertisements

Published by

cie miraflor

A Filipino at heart and a Thomasian in spirit. A vocalist. A bookworm. A chocoholic. A liar. A dreamer. A coffee addict. A writer of poetry and short stories. A pending Information Technologist. A frustrated programmer. Blinded with love for Batman.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s