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A rotting tongue
Flashes through green lips
That serpents fork
It flickers, spits, hisses
You are not enough.

Words are posion
Washing your skin then
Plunging deep, fast
Penetrating bleeding flesh
Unbearable.

I scream
I am enough
With fires blazing white hot
It staggers, slithers
Left unarmed.
Do you always speak in poetry?
...
Steamy breath swirls in the
Stagnant air, my head hangs
Dusty smudges itching
Under my skin
...
No, I breathed
...
Eyes shut, eyes open
The words dance, I hear their
Ethereal whispers, muffled
By masks and heavy cloaks
...
I miss you.
I miss you poetry, it's been a long time since I've actively been writing and something a friend said to me really sparked a flame in me again.
Skye Marshmallow Dec 2018
Happy
She breathes
Face intertwined
In rosy smiles
She is a wallflower
On chalky rust brick
Clinging onto
Ignorance
Isn't it bliss?
Skye Marshmallow Oct 2018
Baby blue blur
The dolls eyes are wet
Darling, please
Trying, begging again
Gripping tight, letting go
But it haunts
Cries are like smoke
Nightmares never fade
Abstract again. Just wanted to take this time to thank everyone so much for their kind comments on youth. I never thought I'd receive a daily poem. I feel completely honoured. It's my favourite poem as well! :) Thanks again , Skye
Skye Marshmallow Sep 2018
Metal skeleton, pretty lights
Frozen breaths sit still
Circular motion, hazy nights
Silent minds sound a siren
Swooping lows, soaring highs
We've lost our balance again
Mechanic cogs, wailing cries
The fair ground is eternal
Skye Marshmallow Sep 2018
His eyes cloudy grey
Storms clouds once, tired now
Breathes like sand bags
Heavy and damp
Slowly holding in a flood
Ragdoll in the wind
He falls, limp and lost
I hold- til sleep
Inspiration- 'Asleep' by the Smiths (https://youtu.be/6dPGV0cols4)
Charlie- this ones for you
  Aug 2018 Skye Marshmallow
Egg
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
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