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Literature Text
Lord, I tried.
Every piece of you that broke,
I glued it, sewed it, hoped.
My cheek ached
where yours was bruising like a peach,
withdrawing. Something taking you,
cell by cell, like a palace
dismantled by masterthieves.
You changed from coffee to white to green
and finally a shadow started settling
over you. Understand:
I couldn't leave you there,
where rats used your pelvis as a throne,
nursing their babies in your vellus hair.
Couldn't leave your fine lips to wither
and me a doctor.
Gentle, gentle with her.
The sun is up. Away.
Every piece of you that broke,
I glued it, sewed it, hoped.
My cheek ached
where yours was bruising like a peach,
withdrawing. Something taking you,
cell by cell, like a palace
dismantled by masterthieves.
You changed from coffee to white to green
and finally a shadow started settling
over you. Understand:
I couldn't leave you there,
where rats used your pelvis as a throne,
nursing their babies in your vellus hair.
Couldn't leave your fine lips to wither
and me a doctor.
Gentle, gentle with her.
The sun is up. Away.
Literature
volte-face
If people were numbers I’d be an 8
all generous curves with a wasp’s waist.
If people were numbers you’d be a 9
head hanging low with the world’s weight.
Literature
before
a little while ago
maybe a couple of months or something
i wasn't drinking ; instead i was
waking up to you
every morning you would stretch
and your spine would move and i felt it all over
your skin stretched into the sun and
i saw it everywhere
but guess what, that shit was gold and
gold doesn't last and you didn't last.
i got boring and you got mean.
and you're less of a gypsy and more of
a woman and i know if i called you up tonight
said hey baby come home
how did we get here baby i'm crying on the
floor drinking lime pepsi
and this goddamn pepsi is flat. so why don't
you come home. just for the night.
you would say you h
Literature
52509
There is a note for me playing hide-and-go-seek
in between the wall and the hotel bed,
but the author is done playing
and driving home
because continuing after losing is too hard,
people are still breathing and posing for photographers,
popping balloons, asking for names or numbers
and living, and sometimes life would be
so much easier if they didnt,
if the world stopped the way a clock
doesnt tick after its dropped off a balcony,
lying there as a small jumble of twisted metal and wooden splinters,
a cracked face with fingerless hands
and all blessedly, gloriously still.
Suggested Collections
NaPoWriMo day 15
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Comments12
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oh my gosh! **dreamyheartsigh**