(1987- / Groton, Connecticutt)

That's A Pretty Nice Size Purse

In the midst of looking for love, I came across a skeleton drenched in yellow wax.
Short in stature, It laid helpless.
I saw a bit of myself standing, watching it lay.
Ultimate truth revealed itself, watching the withered grass that lay beneath.
Everything around continued onward, the bugs slithering and crawling. The grass sprouting new leaflets all around in advanced darkness.
In fantastic curiosity I spoke to it. Expecting nothing but the grin of teeth.
Hollowed holes where eyes use to be. Bones drenched in yellow wax, withered up from the heat of the sun.
I stood there looking where organs use to be.
A housing complex that provided shelter. Abandoned. Long since boarded up,
beyond any means of repair.
An open casket of sorts,
No more pain. No more suffering.
I deeply sympathize with you skeleton. By all means I do.
Without warmth of flesh, the emptiness of what's felt.
Without means of a proper burial. The spiders that come and go in the recess of your mind.
Crawling through open eyelids, faded memory and all.
The aftermath of fragile bones, rattling in everlasting dreams.
I saw a bit of myself standing, watching it lay.
We look different but inside were the same.
This is what I saw when she opened her purse.
A brief glance inside. Darkened iris' staring back at me.
The secret side of her she keeps hidden to herself

by Kewayne Wadley

Comments (1)

Interesting poem. I like it. Most people keep skeletons in their closet, yes?