ruhip - Hello Poetry

early grays choke me uncertain numb daybreak, phantom sheets dipping into the cool crevices your body used to fill your breath once tasted sweet on my lips but in morning fog it bleeds ice dancing transient across my tongue it breaks against this raw, hollow mouth i curl into the shirt i never gave to you frosted with empty memories -- stolen nights sanguine skin swirls of smoke escaping your fingertips and your voice in my dream last night someday it won't hurt but this morning it is chilly sharp

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Apr 5, 2016

Apr 5, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC

dawn

early grays choke me uncertain numb daybreak, phantom sheets dipping into the cool crevices your body used to fill your breath once tasted sweet on my lips but in morning fog it bleeds ice dancing transient across my tongue it breaks against this raw, hollow mouth i curl into the shirt i never gave to you frosted with empty memories -- stolen nights sanguine skin swirls of smoke escaping your fingertips and your voice in my dream last night someday it won't hurt but this morning it is chilly sharp

16

i. you will miss him in drizzles and monsoons, in swells and tsunamis. you will listen to his favorite song for hours; it will hit you every unexpected moment. it will hurt, stab, ache, and you will suppress constant screams with strained lips. ii. you will collect everything he gave to you and wonder if it is dimensionally real. you will sleep in his shirts, retaste saltwater kisses, and reread conversations as if there's something you missed the previous thirty times. absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it rips it apart and you cannot stitch the ragged halves with no thread. iii. you will feel his touch presently in everything you do. it will be soft and cruelly comforting. it will constantly and inescapably linger. it will haunt you in early rainy mornings and dark lonely evenings. iv. you will read endless musings on love and philosophy. you will entirely understand foucault's prison. you will live in steinbeck's tide pools and stars, and relate to simon bolivar trapped in his labyrinth. you will wonder why everything is like this, ugly and broken (and also if you are becoming delusional). v. you will drink tea that scalds your tongue and stand outside on freezing nights, numb and overfeeling at the same time. you will ask the silent moon a thousand questions. you will see him and blink, head swimming, heart pounding in surges. the stars will wink and the wind will mock you. vi. you will have blissful afternoons you forget and sorrowful nights you remember. it will still consume you in bouts, devour you in spells. nighttime will become both your enemy and remedy: it will wickedly remind you, yet help you heal. vii. you will try and fail to make sense of him (and the universe in general). you will grapple with reality and yourself. perhaps you will never know why he stopped loving you: you will keep wondering how some things can just be left broken. iix. slowly, slowly, you will sprout on your own; you will be tender and nearly whole. most importantly, you will realize his love brought you an entirely different kind of happiness. ix. you will stop worrying and trying to piece together an empty puzzle. even the deepest scars find their way of fading. your mom was right: stop picking at the scab and your wound will heal. x. you will learn to love yourself in ways he never could have loved you.

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Mar 6, 2016

Mar 6, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC

things a broken heart taught me

i. you will miss him in drizzles and monsoons, in swells and tsunamis. you will listen to his favorite song for hours; it will hit you every unexpected moment. it will hurt, stab, ache, and you will suppress constant screams with strained lips. ii. you will collect everything he gave to you and wonder if it is dimensionally real. you will sleep in his shirts, retaste saltwater kisses, and reread conversations as if there's something you missed the previous thirty times. absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it rips it apart and you cannot stitch the ragged halves with no thread. iii. you will feel his touch presently in everything you do. it will be soft and cruelly comforting. it will constantly and inescapably linger. it will haunt you in early rainy mornings and dark lonely evenings. iv. you will read endless musings on love and philosophy. you will entirely understand foucault's prison. you will live in steinbeck's tide pools and stars, and relate to simon bolivar trapped in his labyrinth. you will wonder why everything is like this, ugly and broken (and also if you are becoming delusional). v. you will drink tea that scalds your tongue and stand outside on freezing nights, numb and overfeeling at the same time. you will ask the silent moon a thousand questions. you will see him and blink, head swimming, heart pounding in surges. the stars will wink and the wind will mock you. vi. you will have blissful afternoons you forget and sorrowful nights you remember. it will still consume you in bouts, devour you in spells. nighttime will become both your enemy and remedy: it will wickedly remind you, yet help you heal. vii. you will try and fail to make sense of him (and the universe in general). you will grapple with reality and yourself. perhaps you will never know why he stopped loving you: you will keep wondering how some things can just be left broken. iix. slowly, slowly, you will sprout on your own; you will be tender and nearly whole. most importantly, you will realize his love brought you an entirely different kind of happiness. ix. you will stop worrying and trying to piece together an empty puzzle. even the deepest scars find their way of fading. your mom was right: stop picking at the scab and your wound will heal. x. you will learn to love yourself in ways he never could have loved you.

10

this bruised ballerina forgot how to dance. her lithe body a marionette artfully conducted by threads in her back at the nimble fingertips of some perverse desolation she moves mechanically to its twisted touch. she is told to somehow turn scars to flight -- mend wounded wings and glide, carelessly soar through painted skies and fairy clouds sweet as a songbird's melody reborn, a fresh starling (listen: she weakly sings)

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Feb 25, 2016

Feb 25, 2016 at 9:10 PM UTC

confession

this bruised ballerina forgot how to dance. her lithe body a marionette artfully conducted by threads in her back at the nimble fingertips of some perverse desolation she moves mechanically to its twisted touch. she is told to somehow turn scars to flight -- mend wounded wings and glide, carelessly soar through painted skies and fairy clouds sweet as a songbird's melody reborn, a fresh starling (listen: she weakly sings)

13

i lose myself in the titter of your raindrops tonight who listen to me more intimately than any being ever could for your dark a.m. streets breathe a musky scent exactly like my broken love's lips and a sip of you is fresh as your wry scarlet sunrise which whispers secrets of espresso and brick and aged thrice-thrifted books and the dim glow of ***** neon signs who call to no one in particular; during lonely nights when you drink me in, i melt into a solace of wet pave and unlit alleys and emerge among sinuous swirls of painted walls and hazy lights, a blur of chilly comfort and being perfectly lost between you and the moon

0

Feb 21, 2016

Feb 21, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC

oasis

i lose myself in the titter of your raindrops tonight who listen to me more intimately than any being ever could for your dark a.m. streets breathe a musky scent exactly like my broken love's lips and a sip of you is fresh as your wry scarlet sunrise which whispers secrets of espresso and brick and aged thrice-thrifted books and the dim glow of ***** neon signs who call to no one in particular; during lonely nights when you drink me in, i melt into a solace of wet pave and unlit alleys and emerge among sinuous swirls of painted walls and hazy lights, a blur of chilly comfort and being perfectly lost between you and the moon

15

lashes kissing, i dissolve into these crumpled sheets which smell all too much like your winter touch carved into my body sprinkled with sea salt and minutes turn into falling petals now quick sips of burning scotch are flames licking at my throat a ceaseless dream

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Feb 19, 2016

Feb 19, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC

three nights ago

lashes kissing, i dissolve into these crumpled sheets which smell all too much like your winter touch carved into my body sprinkled with sea salt and minutes turn into falling petals now quick sips of burning scotch are flames licking at my throat a ceaseless dream

10

i still taste you on the tip of my tongue, sharp and silky and starry even my neck remembers your lazy lips and naughty violet imprint i still see myself fragile in your moonlit eyes between soft blinks and gentle crinkles unwillingly slipping into melting amnesias and hazy evasion forces its way down my throat it dances fractals in my lungs taunting me, discarnate and disbodied drifting ethereals turned ghostly fog staining my crooked memories

0

Feb 12, 2016

Feb 12, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC

isn't it

i still taste you on the tip of my tongue, sharp and silky and starry even my neck remembers your lazy lips and naughty violet imprint i still see myself fragile in your moonlit eyes between soft blinks and gentle crinkles unwillingly slipping into melting amnesias and hazy evasion forces its way down my throat it dances fractals in my lungs taunting me, discarnate and disbodied drifting ethereals turned ghostly fog staining my crooked memories

18

escape with me, starry-eyed a smoky shadowland where sin is infinite hell warmly embraced and lust a syrupy ***** desire is so crookedly pristine when untouched by the ugly delusion you call love luring, seducing the inky ebony of eve coaxes us sweetly, chillingly to join its empty prisoners -- passion aches inject me with your raven smoke; crave me, consume me come and dip with me in the night where our veiled vices can find relief; its venom will feed my impure nocturne and your wicked clutches can snake into the perverse piths of my phantasm and person.

0

Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC

inferne

escape with me, starry-eyed a smoky shadowland where sin is infinite hell warmly embraced and lust a syrupy ***** desire is so crookedly pristine when untouched by the ugly delusion you call love luring, seducing the inky ebony of eve coaxes us sweetly, chillingly to join its empty prisoners -- passion aches inject me with your raven smoke; crave me, consume me come and dip with me in the night where our veiled vices can find relief; its venom will feed my impure nocturne and your wicked clutches can snake into the perverse piths of my phantasm and person.

21

i. those velvet hands curled around my glass throat but i laughed at the pretty little splinters that would pierce your delicate fingers while my fractured shards scattered across your marble floor sparkling shattered -- fragmented -- broken ii. my ashen core melted into your blazing sorry and crept up into the narrow crevices of your collarbone -- an exodus for this bloodless being and this cold coffee has never before tasted so empty so tired so gone so much like iii. this galaxy -- you should try it, maybe i escape instantly into an astral tenderness and silly little constellations like the ones you used to trace on my starlit waist while we smiled about nothing & everything & skin & skin & skin

0

Jan 26, 2016

Jan 26, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC

ephemeral, mostly

i. those velvet hands curled around my glass throat but i laughed at the pretty little splinters that would pierce your delicate fingers while my fractured shards scattered across your marble floor sparkling shattered -- fragmented -- broken ii. my ashen core melted into your blazing sorry and crept up into the narrow crevices of your collarbone -- an exodus for this bloodless being and this cold coffee has never before tasted so empty so tired so gone so much like iii. this galaxy -- you should try it, maybe i escape instantly into an astral tenderness and silly little constellations like the ones you used to trace on my starlit waist while we smiled about nothing & everything & skin & skin & skin

28

but does the serpentine smoke that escapes your lips still entangle and curl around unspoken words that dance and linger on your tongue like my hungry kisses used to?

0

Jan 24, 2016

Jan 24, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC

soundless

but does the serpentine smoke that escapes your lips still entangle and curl around unspoken words that dance and linger on your tongue like my hungry kisses used to?

4