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Delaney Smoke Apr 2019
Is it possible
To go back and stop the knife
Yell "*******" at death?
whoever said haiku's were pretty?
Delaney Smoke Mar 2019
the death of my soul
comes from my paranoid mind
and your silent lips
i exist even if you don't remember that i do
Delaney Smoke May 2017
There are times when the ache to be home rests in the pit of my stomach like something empty and heavy. Maybe the insides of my chest have shattered into tiny shards that sink into my skin and force salt water from my eyes. The reality comes only late at night, wrapped not in your arms, but unfamiliar blankets in an unfamiliar place. I'm trying to learn to call this place home but you were always it for me.
-This sounds like a love poem but I really just miss my mom
Delaney Smoke Sep 2016
Take the gun from off your back and shoot down the wild birds from the sky
They come easily if you wait
If you wait
When my ankles swell with the storms
You carry me over your shoulder like the corpse of a Canadian goose
I am your prize
You've blown a bullet through my aching bones and I am your prize
Delaney Smoke Aug 2016
By the time I’ve stopped trying to hate you, I’ve started to hate myself. And, it’s certainly not the first time and I’m still hoping that it’s the last, but this hurt, this sadness, this deep ache that tightens itself around my neck, threatens to choke the remaining life out of me and I’m scared my reckless mind just might let it. Because this bitterness is dipping into my blood and it slithers into my soul and I want to scream the sickness out because the crying has stopping working. All of my backup plans are crumbling to dust around me and my memories dance around my head like haunted specters. I’m done. I’m done with this anger and resentment towards people who are too busy to care. Too vain to reach out. They do not deserve my rage when they cannot be bothered to love me if I am not there to remind them I exist. I do exist and I am worthy of being loved. So I refuse to sit here and play the martyr, still waiting for a fictional apology. I’m not sorry. I am finished. The End.
title is the name of a Sheryl Crowe song
Delaney Smoke May 2016
She calls you in the middle of the night
Her voice as sharp as knives
And she says she wants to die
Not to **** herself
Only she doesn't want to be alive
No one knows better than you
Poetry challenge: acrostic using your name
Delaney Smoke May 2016
It’s been a year
The clock strikes midnight
And its been a year
But this isn’t Cinderella
Or another stupid fairytale
Because it’s been a year
Since anyone has loved you
Or at least pretended they did
There have been people
Who have itched to touch you
Feel your skin under their hands
But in the end
You’re left without being desired
For anything more than your body
Maybe it’s easier to make-believe the passion
For romance
But all of the endings are the same
Crying yourself to sleep is your
Happily ever after
Poetry challenge: base on your favorite fairy tale (twisted the challenge a bit)
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