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Grace McQuillan Mar 2012
Half-moons turn to full as my eyes flutter open
The white hot light is disorienting.
My fingernails are the first thing I notice
They’re clean.
Clean has been distant for months.
My hair is combed and cut
And I’m all wrapped up in ivory.

But they forgot to bandage my memory.
It’s still oozing and crusted with sickening pain.
And I can remember their cries and angelic faces still.
And then they turned empty,
Like those grown-ups who used to putter around on Mondays.
At least they’ve got hunger for life now.
And as these trailing thoughts leave my mind,
I remember that I’m not alone.
Not all was lost after that apocalyptic crisis,
Where all I’ve ever known turned to a rotting, dead end.

His face will be forever embedded in my mind.
He and I made it out.
We were plucked out of the ground like two white roses in a field of weeds.
Saved like two animals for Noah’s Ark.

We, are all that’s left of origin,
All that’s left of our kind.

So before it was too late,
They rescued our scorned skins.
And we flew up into that blue sky,
And we just left them there.
We left that fair skinned freckled boy,
That lanky knobby kneed kid,
And that dark haired round eyed little girl,
We left everyone that ever was.

God.

I wish there was.
He’d breathe us in and never let go.
Never let those demons touch us.
Never let them sink their rotted teeth into her tiny neck.
Those *******.
Limping around seeking blood,
Looking for lives to demolish.

If you’re reading this now
I hope you’re not running from rotted versions of your friends,
I hope you’re sitting at home on your plush pillowed sofas
Puttering around on Mondays.
Grace McQuillan Jan 2012
Diamonds fall from my eyes every now and again.

They shatter in my palms
And leave trails of black soot.
Grace McQuillan Jan 2012
If only for once,
You would take off your armor.

You'd shine so brightly.
Grace McQuillan Jan 2012
When I get grey
Sight and sound will be distant
But perhaps this is for the best.
Maybe I can blink away the dust,
Wipe away the dirt and grime,
Rid of the disgust and hurtful things
And in it's place
I'll dream a field of tulips.
Grace McQuillan Jan 2012
I am a useless being,
Really.
It's grim to think,
I know.
Because I'm just living to die
In this vessel that wills
But will eventually tucker out,
And then what matters?
Certainly I don't.
Not in this vast universe
That doesn't care
If you're in love or all alone,
If you've got a nice house
In the wasteland of suburbia
Or if you waste every ounce of yourself
Because you know,
You're just going to die anyways.
And anyways what's a life wasted exactly
If we can't even figure out what the meaning is?
Hey all! Let me know if you've got any thoughts on how to improve this poem! I really appreciate the critique!
Grace McQuillan Dec 2011
And if not for tomorrow,
At least I have today.
Grace McQuillan Dec 2011
We as humans have the burden
Of choice
To love
To hate
To each their own
Voice
Shallow and shaky
Or crisp and LOUD.
Who cares if you're heard anyway?
If people have choice
Who say's they' ll
******* listen.
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