kyra-madeleine - Hello Poetry

The war between my heart and my head is one too great for my ink-stained hand. -k.m

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC

The war between my heart and my head is one too great for my ink-stained hand. -k.m

I was sad again last night, but not the usual kind of sad. This time a direful longing seeped in, replacing the bitter melancholy that makes my cranium its home. All I wanted was for you to fill the cold, settled sheets on the other side of the bed, to be there when I reached out, to be able to sing myself to sleep with the rise and fall of your lungs. It was as if my heart was spilling out of my body and onto the floor before me. The sadness poured out of me in every way possible, and there was never to be a cure because you were not there. Too far, are you now, to rescue me from this dreadful ache. The ache that extends out of my fingers and into my pen as I write this. The ache that keeps me up at night, and disappoints me every morning. The ache that makes every coffee too bitter and too weak because the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore is you. I miss you. I miss you. Please come back soon. - k.m.

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC

Long Distance.

I was sad again last night, but not the usual kind of sad. This time a direful longing seeped in, replacing the bitter melancholy that makes my cranium its home. All I wanted was for you to fill the cold, settled sheets on the other side of the bed, to be there when I reached out, to be able to sing myself to sleep with the rise and fall of your lungs. It was as if my heart was spilling out of my body and onto the floor before me. The sadness poured out of me in every way possible, and there was never to be a cure because you were not there. Too far, are you now, to rescue me from this dreadful ache. The ache that extends out of my fingers and into my pen as I write this. The ache that keeps me up at night, and disappoints me every morning. The ache that makes every coffee too bitter and too weak because the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore is you. I miss you. I miss you. Please come back soon. - k.m.

16

Just as the lone wolf makes unrequited love to the moon each night, I will wait; hopelessly yearning for something that cannot be. -k.m.

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC

II.

Just as the lone wolf makes unrequited love to the moon each night, I will wait; hopelessly yearning for something that cannot be. -k.m.

7

Your name, like the sweet, stinging aroma of a half-burnt cigarette, always seems to linger. Creeping into the backs of my brain A reminder of blissful temptation. - k.m.

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 12:32 AM UTC

Euphoria

Your name, like the sweet, stinging aroma of a half-burnt cigarette, always seems to linger. Creeping into the backs of my brain A reminder of blissful temptation. - k.m.

11

Wrap your pensive fingers around my jaw and pull me closer. Make me forget that her name is still stuck between your teeth; show me what it's like to forget the pain. - k.m.

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC

Plead.

Wrap your pensive fingers around my jaw and pull me closer. Make me forget that her name is still stuck between your teeth; show me what it's like to forget the pain. - k.m.

9

my whole life I've only ever been someone's bad habit. like stealing drags behind the library, or biting broken nails numb, I became their drug in choosing. pretty lips, and a ***** secret; a harrowing existence, meets feverish addiction. their idea of killing time was killing me and this is what I called love. I guess I have a thing for homicide. -k.m.

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Oct 2, 2017

Oct 2, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC

Hit and Run.

my whole life I've only ever been someone's bad habit. like stealing drags behind the library, or biting broken nails numb, I became their drug in choosing. pretty lips, and a ***** secret; a harrowing existence, meets feverish addiction. their idea of killing time was killing me and this is what I called love. I guess I have a thing for homicide. -k.m.

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