Face

My face flows down from my facial features
To the pillow
A slop of uncertainty
Salty human ink-pot

The face discharged into palms
Is sticking on pads of fingers
It fears
That being exposed to light
It will completely flake off

My face flows down from my facial features
To the pillow
Letters of doubts
A frail human primer book

My face flows down from my facial features
To the pillow
It hides itself like the next to the last pages
Of the human calendar

My face flows down
To my pillow
It catches at my palms
Dutifully

It asks me not to move
Saying nothing will ever return
Saying it flows down like a prey
Over wax of anathema

The face is tensioning the spiral
As it hopes to catapult it
It hopes it can flow down the wax of misery
Like a bubble

The face will sift through my fingers
And just echoes will remain here out
It will return to the unknown
Where it was born

Face to face to myself
I sit with my face in my palms
The examination begins right now

Everyone apologizes their own
Wrong decisions
But the face blasphemes them all