Poetry

March 8, 2016

Purging

If there was one thing
I could vomit
And return to you,
It would be the moments
I shared with you.
Easy to swallow, yet
Hard to hold down.
Like a large gulp
Of white lightning,
They drunken me,
Making me a fool.

 

 

Haunted

Do you know what it’s like
To wake up to these
Parched arms,
Always thirsty?
They failed at the one thing
I needed them for,
To drink your skin.
It’s hell
To dream a stream
Of possibilities,
Only to find them without fail,
Grasping ghosts.
What a calloused rasp,
Cracking under the desert sun!
They have become
Once an oasis of nourishment,
Now hallow,
Nothing more than a mere mirage,
As heavy as a pyramid
And just as useful.
My frail wind-worn arms,
A monument tribute for the dead.

 

 

Keys

It’s never easy
To hit delete.
It’s such a
Concrete key.
It’s not free and easy
Like the space bar.
He at least
Takes my words
And spreads them far.

 

 

Jangling

I was once a
Four-leaf clover
Radiant under the sun
You ripped me from my root
Then I became
Your
Lucky four-leaf clover
Until you
Pulled my petals
Apart
All that remains
Is a failed wish
Left to wilt

 

This is Ground Control

I hope to
Regurgitate these words in a way
That you may understand
Your absence of affection
Is deeply felt.
I don’t know where you go
When you seem so
Swallowed whole
By whatever thoughts
Are in control.
You’re missed.
I patiently await
Your return to reality
With warm embrace
And my very best kiss.

 

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