verdntWhisper

American
Sort
131/365Doors slam like Satan himself is / in a fit of rage below us, even if he is / in the deepest level of Hell, I feel the floor
48
Jun 11, 2013
175/363everything is silent outside, / but the screaming in my soul / gets louder as the day drags
13
Jun 24, 2013
363/365 (I Wrote This in Connecticut at a Time When Life Was Good)december 29, 2012 / it’s cold. the kind of cold, cold night that good books begin on. it’s cold enough to start snowing and if only for that reason i have all the blinds on the windows pulled up high, just in case flakes start falling before i close my eyes. it's cold and i'm waiting for snow that i know isn't coming and i'm lying on a bed that was never quite intended to be just mine, curled up in sheets that i bought after a week of sleeping on ones that had too much history. / (i want to be what makes your bones weak)
7
Jun 11, 2013
A List of Things I Never Got to Say to You*I am in a bad state, physically and emotionally (mostly emotionally) and this is mostly a self healing type of thing. Bear with me. A lot of swearing and some mild crying were involved.* / 1. For starters, I'd like to say that I am sorry for the current state that we're in. Our friendship has slipped through my fingers faster than any liquid could and left me numb and confused and sort of hung over. I never meant to cause you anger towards me in any way but I guess sometimes these things are meant to happen and there isn't anything we can do about it. / 2. I kind of miss your small hands and the way they were always outstretched, ready to catch every drop of disappointment and wonder the world had to give. They were always cold too; maybe from all the icy truths they held. I liked the way you moved them when you couldn't figure out the exact words to say, as if they were your cue cards you couldn't quite read.
9
Jun 15, 2013
Anaphora and AcousticsI love the girl who is too young to smoke cigarettes but lights them anyway. She sits on the high school bleachers at 9 on a Sunday night, gets tired of the smoke in her eyes, and tosses eventual death in the trash can. / I love the girl who has never enjoyed the taste of alcohol but feels like Holly Golightly when she holds a glass of Cabernet so she drinks it anyway. She sits in her grandfather’s lounge chair on a Monday night, plays the songs he taught her on the ***** neglects her English essay, and leaves the red remains in the bottle. / I love the girl who cannot stand the sound of my guitar, but pretends to like acoustics because she knows the music brings out the best in me, and that even if she asks me to stop, I will play anyway. She lies on the floor on a Tuesday night, wishing she were in another town too small to be called a city, listens to melodies that remind her of where she is, ignores my creations and leaves my heart in her hands as she finally falls asleep.
3
Jun 30, 2013
For John, Part I*it's been a while, so i thought to get back in the swing of things, i'd post a poem i wrote a few months back. enjoy.* / “some people, most people actually, die before they die. and the death of the mind is so much greater than the death of the body,” my therapist tells me, / his frown barely hidden behind his beard, his brows furrowed and forehead thick with sweat.
21
Aug 28, 2014
four a.m. knows my secrets*this is very jumpy. i have been up for 24 hours. i don't know* / There are miles between us on the queen sized bed and all I know right now is *words words words* and nothing spilling from chapped lips. Passion and lust and *I need you's* coming out in the form of long kisses and hands-on-my-chest types of expressionism. This isn't the kind of dizzy your momma warned you about. Deep sea swimming inside your head and I'm trying to figure out a way to mean more than just someone you want in your bed. There's a tug at the bottom of my navel pulling me away from the edge, but I've already dived in. Sparks flew where your careful fingers met my hip bones, but lightning struck where your feelings for me lay and with a thunder clap they were gone as fast as rain slides down a window. / The night I found out I was not important to you, regret was just a knot in my throat. But now, it is a hand choking my heart. How beautiful it would be for you to understand just how much I miss you.
6
Jun 26, 2013
MatchesI drank two glasses of a cheap wine and it left a sour taste on my mouth. It was bitter like your tongue and the mindless remarks that escaped from your daydreams. I felt like it was quite appropriate. / Yesterday I read on the news it rained for three days in California. Isn’t it thoughtful of you that you took your rainy mood to fill the blue with clouds and the sun with thunder? Then I mentally cursed myself for hoping that you had taken your gray umbrella with you simply because it would match the gray from your tired eyes. / I drank two glasses of wine and, well, the alcohol didn’t work. The fridge was empty and so was the your side of the bed. I sat on the couch with a half bottle of wine as my company and it rained inside my apartment too. It didn’t leave marks, it didn’t water my plants or wet the books. It just rained and rained.
11
Aug 1, 2013
Of Cigarette Smoke and Lonelinessyou didn’t want me / not when your fingers dug into / my hips or when they trailed their way up my thigh
15
Jun 15, 2013
Plane & Not Very Simple*I wrote this a few months ago on a flight across the country. Not my best, but it healed me a bit* / Thinking about you doesn't get any easier and even at 30,000 feet in the air the feeling you left with me somehow manages to suffocate me, through twenty different layers of clouds and pressurized cabins. The lady sitting next to me has a sad look in her eyes. Maybe she is suffering through some kind of heartbreak herself, just like me. She orders her coffee black. I want to reach out to her and hold her hand, but it's probably too cold, and she might **** away from my touch, the same way you did that day when you left. She smells like cheap perfume and the lies of lovers she has tried too hard to forget. / I wonder about jumping right out this plane right now. I wonder if I'd land with a *splat* and if a nice young man would arrive with a broom and pan, sweep me up, and discard me into the nearest trash can, like they do in the carnivals. Would I regret it the moment my feet left the edge of the plane? Would I get the same feeling in my stomach on the way down as I did when we were together? I think I'd only jump if I were holding your hand.
5
Jun 18, 2013
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write