Torn © Pam Baldacchino, 2015

TORN text


Wash me my tears.

Surge from my depths

and arise from between these fractured spaces.

Erode gently at these ripped, jagged edges

and soothe the living, pulsating tenderness of torn flesh.

Shift the sore, compressed plates of memory

and echo along its raw, knotted veins.

Come my friend,

pour me your sweetest smile.

Let it seep, penetrate and find,

let it see what no word need tell.

Let it swell and surge from the depths

to finally escape the boundless confines of self.

Come my friend,

Pour me your sweetest smile.

© Pamela Baldacchino