Blogging Poetry

Burned Skin

It's easy to create self-deception.

Long, these desert days.

Old Sun’s blinding rays,

Cast this shadow-play.

Hallucination.

An incantation!

Imagination…

It all seems so real.

My hands reach to feel,

Burned skin as it peels.

There’s no desert here.

I’m just weak. Old Fear.

I burned myself, dear.

Old Sun blazing high,

My own baleful eye,

New, pink skin to fry.


© All rights reserved, 2017.

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