Peggy Pollock


Bleeding Lips - Poem by Peggy Pollock

A sudden distaste for my own music
Calls for a silent torture
And I wonder
At my own misfortune
Deeper into thought
How if something's perfect, unbroken
Can anyone, or thing, get in?
And I bite my lip ‘til it bleeds.
With bleeding lips I press a kiss unto a lidded vase.
And watch as blood trickles down the breast and down the vases thigh
And turns to mud, to dust, leaving nothing but a trail of rust
And I cry.
For the blood we spilt
Let flowers wilt
And soon they come to die

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Poem Submitted: Monday, February 11, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, February 11, 2013


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