towards poetic ends
My Mind, The Peep Show.
Cracked reflections
Perceived through
Infernal glass.
Mirroring the inner child
Who is a minority —
Within my internal self.
Shards clenched
With closed fists.
To allow tension
To drip through —
My aged
Wrinkled fingers —
Like a dripping faucet
On a roman bathtub.
Soaking in the shame —
Until it prunes
The skin upon
My drowned —
Fleshy frame.
Warming my heart
In a cold state
Of isolation —
Where I find love
In all the wrong places.
Holding on to
Forbidden fantasies —
As I search for
Erect towers —
Entirely enfolded
In sensitive skin.
O how I long
To be covered —
In explicit vivid memories
Of all my favorite sins.
Matty Kopf 