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98 · Apr 2018
HONESTY
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
Truth is bitter
Lies are sweet
Eat your words
Rinse, wash, repeat

But think sweet poisons
And bitter cures
I know my choice
What is yours?

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
THE COLOR BLUE
the sky is clear
unlike
your foggy mind
the sky is empty
unlike
your cluttered thoughts
the sky is blue, blue, blue
the color of this thing growing in your chest

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
96 · Apr 2018
SHALL I?
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
Shall I speak of Icarus?
Golden dreamer-boy, head in the clouds
"The greatest have the farthest to fall"
Isn't that what they say?
And he was great, my friend
He laughed in exultant triumph above the sea
Even as he fell towards the grasping waves

Shall I tell of Atlas?
Strong, lonely man, cursed to bear the world on his shoulders
He would like nothing more than to escape his burden
And strip the breath from his captors, while he's at it
But those wishes are only daydreams
The sky presses down on him relentlessly
Sometimes nearly driving him to his knees

Shall I talk of Dionysus?
The partying drunkard, master of madness
Born of grief and rage and loss
Gifted divinity for his wine
Whether it was a blessing or a curse in the end, I cannot say
He drinks to forget, he parties to numb the pain
Insane with sorrow and anger and power not meant for mortal minds

h.f.m.
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
EMPATHY
you feel numb
you don't feel at all
you feel angry
you feel wrong

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
THE CITY
normally roaring with life
it feels muted
distant
this isn't your home
this isn't your home

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
MIRRORS
you look through
a window and see
a stranger
but the glass is backed
with silver.
The stranger, then
is really you.

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
MY HANDS
trace the blue veins
under skin of the wrist
the back of the hand
like a map to a strange place
knuckles as mountain ridges
palm-lines as valleys
a land that i am not sure that i can traverse
i know the stars better than the back of my hands
my hands, limp and empty

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
WORDS
your only weapon
your last defense
stolen out from under you
like a
rug
these syllables turn to
ashes on your tongue
before they can pass your lips
you cannot speak

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me
Hannah Marr Apr 2018
BREATHING
In.
Out.
It's fine, then—
the air is too thin
can't breathe
heart trips
can't see
you're dying, then—
You're fine.
In.
Out.

h.f.m.
maybe it's not any of these that are wrong
maybe it's just me

— The End —