when I'm high
off the scents of
October night air
and smokey burnt wood
on your shirt
I'll dress up for you,
all satin
and buttons
and lace.
when I'm drunk
from one too many
Gin & Tonics
with purple-spotted moons
stamped under my eyes
and the apples of my cheeks
stained with paths
of saltwater
I'll dress down for you,
all freckles
and scars
and skin.




Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

Vincent van Gogh**

o man of greater talent blessed
in loss the same as all the rest
wrestled he with demons of the mind
but oh! such beauty
palate knife could find!

in sweat and pain
did Vincent make his mark
in poverty
obsessed for love of art
he, in his eyes, God's poetry was made
struggling til his mortal soul
was shade

his great love, a woman of distain
he could not win
nor loss of her sustain
a bandag'd head of sorrow
woe betides
but greater wound
within his chest resides

o wond'rous lights
the stars in heav'n found
they to fortune's hand
he was forever bound
looked he upon your rays back then
now his own light goes soft

unto eternal end


soulsurvivor
(c) 6/5/2015

bask in the
11 PM
humid June air
with me,
our skin
soaking up the ivories
of Luna's glow
and the stars
sinking into your pores,
leaving my hands
scorched
from their touch.
silver clouds
rising in the sky
holding back their tears,
husky grumbles of thunder
in the distance;
these storms
are nothing,
compared to the things
you start in me.




Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

you stand tall
facing the works of art,
Monet and
Renoir and
Van Gogh
all slowly
consuming your thoughts
color by color,
brushstroke by brushstroke
and you have
the nerve
to ask me
to point towards my favorite
masterpiece;
you pessimist,
you train wreck,
it's always been you.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

even the moon
slumps its shoulders
in a sort of
deep despair
from your absence.





Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

to think just
118
days ago
I was running miles
through your bedroom eyes
feeling myself
burn up
in your atmosphere
and now
I seem to have forgotten
the taste of those
four letters
of your name
steaming off of my tongue;
those fires you lit
in me
weren't so strong
after all.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved