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literature
out, damned spot.
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Literature Text
Out, damned spot!
OUT!
The plaster on the mark on
My skin on my vein on
My bone does little
But conceal.
T’is sore, this speck,
This miniscule imperfect fleck,
A blemish on this blemished hand.
Oh, I have made mistakes,
But this is none.
"Oh, she did not do this to herself."
OUT!
The plaster on the mark on
My skin on my vein on
My bone does little
But conceal.
T’is sore, this speck,
This miniscule imperfect fleck,
A blemish on this blemished hand.
Oh, I have made mistakes,
But this is none.
"Oh, she did not do this to herself."
the drip has gone, with the rows of beds and tinny machines.
now, pills.
now, pills.
© 2007 - 2024 lederhosen-baby
Comments11
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Had I never read the comment someone else left, I wouldn't know what it was about.
Interesting, though! Now that I figured that out, the poem makes sense. No critique for now.
Interesting, though! Now that I figured that out, the poem makes sense. No critique for now.