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Literature Text
she scrawled heaviness
onto slices of the moon
so she could feel light.
that one-way journey
made all of her bones dry up;
she stopped using them.
she became a leech,
feasting on prehistories
of those she still loves.
blood-letting used to
be the cure for everything.
now she is just a...
premeditated,
flashy, honeyed, ironic,
pretty way to die.
onto slices of the moon
so she could feel light.
that one-way journey
made all of her bones dry up;
she stopped using them.
she became a leech,
feasting on prehistories
of those she still loves.
blood-letting used to
be the cure for everything.
now she is just a...
premeditated,
flashy, honeyed, ironic,
pretty way to die.
Literature
Waking
I woke up without you today
But this emptiness—
That's not new.
I woke up without you today
But these tears—
They've dried and rusted
I woke up without you today
And these faded memories—
They're all I've got
But today, I woke up
And my hand was clenched in a fist—
And that was new.
Today, I woke up
And I hated the people who took you away
Literature
Highway Dreaming
They're living on cheap ramen and hopeless dreams. He wants to be a world-famous brain surgeon and she wants to be more things than she can count on one hand. Sometimes they fight about her leaving her lipstick in the sink or when he doesn't pick up orange juice at the grocery store. But they're happy, even with the cracked paint and terrible plumbing. Every morning at 7:08 he catches the 7:15 train to the university and she takes their battered old Sedan to her job at the highway tolls. She likes to make up stories about the more interesting cars to tell him later. The bedside lamp is on, her voice humming low in her throat, and he drifts qu
Literature
mornings
sunday.
the croissant crumbles in my fingers
buttery flakes drift towards mismatched
china
and your lips are stained with
strawberry jam.
monday.
sleep clings to your eyes
like a shadow
and i watch you breathe, while
i trace your collarbone with
tired fingers.
tuesday.
we wake before the alarm
and count how many times the
neighbor's dog barks
before she finally lets him in.
your soft laugh blends perfectly into
the early morning sun.
wednesday.
your fingers trace the curve
of my spine
the old window rattles
in the wind
and i press my cold toes against your leg.
thursday.
half asleep
i mumble how the faded, flower
Suggested Collections
It's a string of haikus. (:
Comments make me happy.
Comments make me happy.
© 2010 - 2024 londonrey
Comments107
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This makes me remember things... It's a lovely poem. Makes me wish I knew how to write poetry.