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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · History · #1377795
A reflection upon the horrors of what men can do to one another over trivial matters.
Eyes looking down at me
fingers longing to touch me
is it soft, hard, brittle

Tongues once tasted me
teeth have bitten me
but none can hear

I give light but make no heat
I lament but make no sound
a prize, a trophy

You cannot hear the thousand gaseous screams
or see my tattoo bleeding red
the lampshade no longer lighting anyone's way.

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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1377795-Lampshade