 |
I pass the time counting sheepthere is nothing I do bettersixty-six, sixty-sevennights since I’ve slept.
|
|
Tonight I will forgetthe girl with the ribbonsthat curled around her hair like ivy;whose hands were almost as coldas her heart.I read into herlike the..
|
|
It is almost cruelhow the scent that your skin lefton my sheetsstill finds a way to charm my dreams.The fragments of youwith which I shamelessly decor..
|
|
Do your lungs feel heavy,weighed down with sand?Has it slowed your breathingnearly to a stop?And your throat,is it all cut up?Those unkind grains ofsa..
|
|
These hollow bonesare shaking, shaking;boundless seas of skeletonsquake beneath my heels.Fear saturates my skin:it chokes, it curls- an inevitableforc..
|
|
I propose a toastto a honeycombed cruxcharred blackit wanes but it’s no moon.Molasses streak the skydisguised as lightit will not calm the alaba..
|
|
Handprints stain my heart.They’re yours.I am plagued; comatose,a ritualistic rebirthI claw my way out by morning.Steady, inescapable,and raw, co..
|
|
I couldn’t tell your skin from sadness on the dryest, darkest nights.I refused to acknowledge the rising tides that licked my ankles, threatenin..
|
|
I was in it for the way you looked at him.This lavender-green sunset will swallow me whole tonight.My body hurts but I won’t break my bones for ..
|
|
There are ghosts that stir inside of her,shimmering and wraithlike.The desperate waysin which she’s moonedhave craned and fusedand become a part..
|
 first  prev 1
|
|
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This