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• Artiste: Plaids
• Titre: Fourteen
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To touch her With cursed and boney hands The softest skin Pierced A stroke in confidence Pushes a sea of sharpened knives Into her side Fresh from recent wounds The guilt of my kind Washes over me Holding helpless hands Even further down A fronted strength Holds this room together now Stitches showing Their ripped connections bare You should keep you deadly hands from this You're rendered blind to pain Your actions killed a life You couldn't feel the trigger that you pulled You glazed your own eyes over To blacken hers now As I reach to embrace this wound My hands are made from salt My fingers turn to blades It is channeled, without my knowing A heart unsettled Can not calm down Into this night We lie with bodies stiff Eyes wide open facing different walls Longing to return To a different form This clay was molded From expired ingredients And made with hands lacking skills Required to form a body That's suited to this task This challenge to open doors To welcome a flood of endless hurt A tap which stiffens on turning A stream which can't be blocked Into this night we hold in air And hope it lasts us for what we need To see this out And hope that no one feels the wet