Sometimes it seems
I am nobody.
Like this boiled egg.
Taken out of boiling water
And left on a chine plate
Thin and cold,
To be executed on the scaffold
of a deep oval shape.
Stroke.
The skull broke
Into dozens of falling chips.
The core - to expose.
Insides - to reveal.
Cracking unstitching my shell.
Somebody’s digging a well
Using a cold spoon,
Pushing it down right through
my warmth,
Scraping off
Any whites and yolks
From my backbone,
Taking everything out of me,
Licking the inner walls clean,
And afterwards
Leaving
The metal echoing
Into my memory,
A chill touch of air
on naked remaining
Of whoever
I used to be.
And a new hollow me...
Follow me ...
Breakfast
© Copyright: Надежда Фиану, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117120312200
Свидетельство о публикации №117120312200
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