weeping ladies: a metaphor

weeping ladies: a metaphor

A Poem by Safrina

My mother does not enjoy kissing pictures. How, oh,
very sad, Very primitive. The sound of her
'rock me' face. She told me
not to open her chest when she is dead: You will
find a train sized heart.,
they are your bones, and indeed I saw the tiny liver, a furious
apple. The dying words
of Mendeleev are in the pockets of your therapist. I consider this
as a metaphor,
weeping ladies. And indeed, you are sad enough:
each tiny day in each tiny pill. A pharmacist is not your
sister tree. Know this, not as a metaphor, but
as being.


© 2011 Safrina



Author's Note

Safrina
i am verrrrrrrry bad with titles. i typed titties then. i am good with titties
i can put my own tits in my mouth.

this should not be on the internet




sorry guys john baby gave me a title ;)

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Reviews

I love this!

Posted 6 Years Ago


"weeping ladies: a metaphor"..I think that's a good title

Posted 6 Years Ago


the ending is a punch in the chest..def in a good way..God this is so amazing..I wanna carry my hard rive into the mountains and let them study this in future generations

Posted 6 Years Ago


ahahahahahahaha to your little note.

Rails. and roads.

Ladies are Trees.


Posted 6 Years Ago



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496 Views
4 Reviews
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Added on March 9, 2011
Last Updated on March 16, 2011

Author

Safrina
Safrina

Birmingham, United Kingdom



About
kisses on the neck and writing rules my life and determinsim is a b***h but me and her made a deal so it's all good now. in fact, shes doing a lot of great things for me. Take down the lo.. more..

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