Wednesday, January 24, 2007
rackoy (6:07:47 AM): i'm fingering the scar in my forearm and for the first time it doesn't bring me any painful memories, i carved it there 7 years ago to remind me of where i've been, now its a map thats finally revealing the path of where im supposed to go...
famtz (6:10:51 AM): hmm... I glad you're looking forward... you don't deserve to keep reliving the past.
rackoy (6:11:38 AM): you're echoing the voice in my head verbatim
famtz(6:12:59 AM): I must be your guardian devil then :-P
famtz (6:13:36 AM): and you're nestled safely under my wing...
I am a storybook,
the tales long ago
etched by quills of blade
and blood ink on
skin parchment.
You were reading me–
setting me on your lap,
opening me and gingerly
tracing the surface scars
with your fingertip.
Like the others,
I offered you a blank page
and an iridium nibbed plume,
enclosing it in your palm as
I spread myself on the table.
You lifted me and carried me
back to the filled-up pages.
Flipping the quill over,
you started erasing scars
with the feather tip.
I am still a storybook,
bound with human vellum–
but this time rewritten
by your hands, lips and tongue
dipped in soul-ink.
