Knee socks, sweaters, thick cotton, tea, plush.
I wear it all, I wear it always -
in summer, in winter-
to keep me warm,
when all of me is gone....
it's okay, shush
let's keep it a secret.
I cannot sleep, I cannot eat.
"Destruction is a form of creation"
Hope that's right, 'cause,
I'm a plush cotton shell, with a
.....soul that just splintered,
...but maybe that's what you call abstract then.
An imperfect chaos with spilled colour & spread lines, just
that the colour is blood and the lines are guts.