At any touch my skin to anger’s lured

By my golden wedding ring, skin’s red
And now my entire body seems disturbed
The rash runs on my surface like new blood

Was it something evil that was said?
By politics and terror, we’re perturbed
By my golden wedding ring, skin’s red

I would take my skin off, if I could
Nonsensical, post  modern, quite absurd
The rash runs on my surface like fresh blood

As they said once, better red than dead!
Would Sigmund Freud with that notion concurred?
By my golden wedding ring, skin’s red

I wish I were a puppet made of wood
With ears  that could not hear and vision blurred
The rash runs on my surface like fresh blood

My angst and my anxiety are stirred
At any touch my skin to anger’s lured
By my golden wedding ring, skin’s red
The rash runs on my surface like new blood

 

 

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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