Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
cyanide skies Dec 2015
someday you'll wake up
from a nightmare unprecedented.
you'll sit up straight,
gasp and stare in the darkness
like it's going to swallow you whole.
but then I'll mumble
half asleep beside you
and I'll reach out for you
and say, "lay down baby,
I'm here and you're okay."
and you'll smile, fears gone
I'll turn over, place my arms
around your body
that had previously been quaking.
I'll hold you and kiss your neck
my warmth right beside you
and we'll fall asleep again.

someday I'll wake up
to the smell of brewing coffee
and I'll get out of bed
head down to the kitchen
to find you at the table
a mug of tea ready for me
and you with your coffee.
I'll go over to the counter,
spoon honey into my tea
while you hug me from behind
and pull me into bed again.

someday we'll wake up
and lay in bed all day
I'll ruffle your hair
you'll slide your hands up my nightshirt
and we'll stay intertwined
while rain falls in sheets
while we're under sheets
and the rest of the world
deals with the world's problems
and whenever I try
to get anything done
you'll pull me close
and I'll kiss you again.

someday they'll wake up
with your hair and my eyes
my nose and your smile
and their little feet
will stomp down to the kitchen
you with your coffee
me with my tea
us with our pancakes
and our own little family.
cyanide skies Dec 2015
"life isn't all sunshine and cuddles,"
he said as he pressed the burning cigarette to
the small of her back.
"you have to learn your lesson"
the milky white of
her imperfect skin
marred by the ugly black
of all of his sins.
"life is about *** and revenge,"
he said as he took everything she had.

things could be different though
and soon they were
there was a new man now
he brought her flowers
and caressed the scarred small of her back
he kissed her body and left the choices up to her
she loved him dearly but told him
with soft, harsh lips:
"you have to learn your lesson,"
and her sins became his.
cyanide skies Dec 2015
I didn't wait long
for the milkman to arrive
but instead of milk he had
liquid cyanide
and I didn't know how to tell him
that I was all set with that
so I paid him, zipped my lips
and decided that was that.
cyanide skies Oct 2015
"Tell me what it's like," he started
unsure of where it would go.
She took the right turn up at
the graveyard and said to him, her hands
on the steering wheel
drumming away to a Led Zeppelin song
"To be so close to death, you mean."
her voice was like matter-of-fact static
on a frequency too far away
for attachment.
"No," his voice wavered
and his eyes focused on a fixed point
somewhere above the mausoleum
that loomed before them
as he said with brevity
"What's it like to be back?"
cyanide skies Oct 2015
you'd think this would be another poem about
the rhythmic disturbance of insomniac instances
of ideas playing themselves out like cascading
tumbling forces wearing holes in the soles of their
metaphoric shoes as I use big words to stump you
into believing that you know what I'm talking about
but the truth is that you don't know and you won't know
but you turn it around and put it under a microscope
and you analyze my syntax and my use of frantic diction
and you tell yourself that you know what I'm feeling
because you used all of the methods they taught you
but who are they and how do they know what it means
to be awake at all hours of the night not because of
insomnia but because the thoughts of inferiority won't
let me be because I let myself believe too many things
and they are the tireless echoes of ghosts in the nighttime
that refuse to give me
cyanide skies Sep 2015
I'm fine,
I say, *I'm just a sad teenager.

I shrug, indifferent,
and they nod and they offer
small smiles of gossiping
wishful melancholy
as if wishing
they had enough energy
to pretend to care.

I'm fine, I tell
the mirror every morning
I chant it like a satanic hymn
because I am indifferent
just like them.

the sadness on my back
is fine for the day
when I can shrug
even under its reign
because I am indifferent
and that cannot change.

but at night I lay
in cloudy-eyed trepidation
unable to plague
the world with my problems
because it is indifferent
and so am I.

the world is always
indifferent at first
until the best
becomes the worst.
but now I'm indifferent.
cyanide skies Sep 2015
drifting along a sea
of broken glass and ashes
falling from the sky
liquid cyanide
stardust on the tongue
of naive existence
swallowing it
like the sun yellow
snow of a third winter.

cut feet and the orbit
of undiluted moonlight
forming crystallized
blood drops
a catalyst
for the downfall
but the downfall of what?
the worst part of the end
is not knowing what exactly
is ending.
Next page