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Barb Feb 2013
Burn your skin
on accident
while
setting fire
to your bedsheets
because
she slept in them
and you rather them turn to
ashes
than have to remember her finger tips
against your skin
every time you try to rest
Barb Feb 2013
Even if eaten fresh
I will rot your insides
The loathing that I carry in my bones
is poison
I like to take pictures
of my sadness
and hang them up on
the walls
of my soul
I wear sweaters of sorrow on warm evenings
and I cry only
when I’m happy
That’s not even the half of it
This is my final warning
I am devouring smiles
and picking apart my existence
like a vulture
on a corpse
Barb Feb 2013
We climbed under bed sheets in our day clothes
and I remembered how soaked my moccasins were
thinking of the salt stains that would soon be there
and how pretty you looked when your eyes were closed

My eyes fought exhaustion with drooping lids
and I drank black coffee like I needed it to live
we washed away our secrets from the day in muddled whispers
and soon decided to go for a cigarette

Climbing out of bed like skeletons from coffins
Dressing for the weather in hats and jackets with boots
We ran across the street and almost slipped on the ice
six times

In the back yard of an old abandoned house
We stood facing the the water
I could swear you were changing
beneath the street lights and heavy breathing

It’s time for me to let go of this
but I don’t know if I’m strong enough
I’m worried that this won’t be good for you
I just can’t keep doing this to myself

— The End —