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Literature Text
They feed the fire, our yesterdays
Their faces mangled by the flames
Curling up, they burn away
Till nothing but their ashes lay
Her face, so fallow in the grave
Upturned by churning earth and clay
No more the visage I had known
But twisted like a roadmap, paved.
I turned and left the fire to burn
Choking down a laugh, or tears
Not sure if either was a lesson learned
But bridges burned were my worst fears
I left in hopes that she'd return
Though knowing better,
Both would burn.
Their faces mangled by the flames
Curling up, they burn away
Till nothing but their ashes lay
Her face, so fallow in the grave
Upturned by churning earth and clay
No more the visage I had known
But twisted like a roadmap, paved.
I turned and left the fire to burn
Choking down a laugh, or tears
Not sure if either was a lesson learned
But bridges burned were my worst fears
I left in hopes that she'd return
Though knowing better,
Both would burn.
Literature
Simbelmyne
There is silence here, upon
stale skull tombs—
these everminds are stilling...
(And yet their tragedies
shall endure in the pallor of the
flowers in your hands.)
Literature
Empty Gardens
It was a wine-petaled pansy
that my mother pruned from the garden box;
it reminded me
that I had blossomed late and wilted.
At fourteen I created pansy petals of my own,
waking up with hot-fisted cramps
and the proof I was a woman.
I was not a rose, perennial,
as I went from blooming monthly
to not at all.
I would rather spend a day
curled up like the fetus I may never carry
than flat on my back wondering
why God allowed worse women than me
to bear children.
Literature
How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
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Poem I wrote about burning bridges and moving on in life when people let you down.
© 2014 - 2024 JustAnotherWeekend
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