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Literature Text
The taste of your formaldehyde kiss won’t leave my lungs
No matter how many times I've tried to turn a blind eye
You seem to linger in the crook of my neck
And at the curve of my hips
I don’t know whether to be glad or to cry
At the fact that your fingertips have left deep grooves in my waist
Even though your footsteps
no longer leave imprints on my front yard
Or on the pavement
Rather you lie beneath the earth
Asleep waiting for a kiss that won’t ever wake you up
I think I can hear the stars cry with me sometimes
When I’m left alone on the flaking swing sets in our favourite park
Drunk and alone wearing your old t-shirt
Embracing a blurry past that fades into the horizon
Reaching out for a hand that's no longer there
No matter how many times I've tried to turn a blind eye
You seem to linger in the crook of my neck
And at the curve of my hips
I don’t know whether to be glad or to cry
At the fact that your fingertips have left deep grooves in my waist
Even though your footsteps
no longer leave imprints on my front yard
Or on the pavement
Rather you lie beneath the earth
Asleep waiting for a kiss that won’t ever wake you up
I think I can hear the stars cry with me sometimes
When I’m left alone on the flaking swing sets in our favourite park
Drunk and alone wearing your old t-shirt
Embracing a blurry past that fades into the horizon
Reaching out for a hand that's no longer there
Literature
The Sky is Falling Tonight
The sky is falling tonight.
My toes curl inward
as I finish off a cigarette
and flick it to the street corner.
Looks like it might rain.
I bite my lip and taste metal.
A car rolls by with the windows
down and a tanned arm
hanging out the side.
My granddaddy once said
that on the very last day
no one will cry except the earth itself.
I can't hear a thing,
but I smell gasoline and regret.
My granddaddy's tombstone
once had a lipstick stain on it
from where my grandmamma
kissed him goodbye.
I won't even have a tombstone.
The playground is vacant,
the swings rocking in the subtle wind
as if carrying invisible children.
The d
Literature
Car Wreck Reverie
The sight made the world slow down,
and my eyes took snapshots in
rapid-fire succession.
Off the road on the grassy ground
was a mass of black metal,
wrapped around an unmoved pole,
embracing it fatally.
My head became a beehive.
My thoughts were humming loudly-
NO ONE MADE IT OUT ALIVE.
The hot sun was beaming down.
The car cushions were light brown.
Thoughts are strange in moments when
gunshots breed no violins.
A thought had occurred to me:
that death looks like a beer can,
bent and broken, thrown away.
Literature
roads
i always did like the way i swing around narrow curves,
how i glide with the center lines, never crossing them, just following their lead.
it's kind of beautiful when you think about it. that is,
if you can find beauty in that sort of thing.
most people don't find beauty in driving.
fuck, most people don't find beauty in anything.
except maybe themselves or some overrated celebrity in designer jeans.
one of my past boyfriends said he didn't trust me behind a wheel.
"woman drivers" was his reason.
fuck him.
i almost lost my virginity in a car. truck, rather.
didn't happen though. i was too afraid of us getting caught.
we were parke
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Comments16
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Very powerful poem, and the images throughout are so moving. I'm sorry for your loss. 