My, Her Our Rooms Poem by James McLain

i look inside my eye, this picture takes, confused.
a poster few, ripped like you, so tattered.
the cocoon a bed, centered piece, warm diary.
pinks, scatter underfoot, frilly, soul of many unions.
my mirror is broken, i must leave, when i come back
inside, is another different picture, still unbroken.
the log, long narrow, you rest upon, knots, unbuckled.
upon this skinny me, my arms hang over, to bleed on,
the dripps on some plastic, of a many holed, soul to leak.
my every thing, once a rose, to gush, pulls in between, my pink
thorns, pulled between, catch me in sleep, many prices, pics.
you look in again, now, more confused, than when you left.