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:icontaralitha: More from Taralitha


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Submitted on
November 12, 2012
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Kneel. Lick the salt. Pray.

There is a hole here, I say,
pressing to my breastbone.
No doctor can diagnose it.
There is no test to check
how deep you've been ingrained
in my woodwork, pumping muscles
and spitting valves.

And no scalpel can erase this.
The emptiness of unfriendship.
Cold eyes glinting black
where once they glimmered.

This is a flimsy half-light
coming from my cigarette.
Nothing good will come for years.

Kneel. Lick the salt. Pray.
You're gone.
Losing a friend.
:iconsammur-amat:
Sammur-amat Nov 18, 2012   General Artist
Congratulations on the well-deserved DLD, lovely! :huggle:
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:icondailylitdeviations:
Your wonderful literary work has been chosen to be featured by DailyLitDeviations in a news article that can be found here [link]
Be sure to check out the other artists featured and show your support by :+fav:ing the News Article.
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