Feet of Clay
Posted: May 16th, 2010, 4:37 pm
The happy faces speak while hiding
their tongues, spotted
like the blue and purple-inflicted
hands that are decaying.
And as valleys stretch across
these poked and prodded hands,
they hold on to mine, warning me
to turn a deaf ear to those
happy faces.
I never knew my hands could be colder
than the dying.
their tongues, spotted
like the blue and purple-inflicted
hands that are decaying.
And as valleys stretch across
these poked and prodded hands,
they hold on to mine, warning me
to turn a deaf ear to those
happy faces.
I never knew my hands could be colder
than the dying.