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femininedeathPoems
i cold write poems about klimt’s the kiss, soiled and stained in your garage, how we’re all a mess of basorexia and urgent fingers, darling, take me in your hands, i’m not gonna fall apart like dead chrysanthemum petals. i could write poems about long nights and long drives, how the road had seen all those **** promises, love, we’ll never repeat my parent’s history of falling out of love. and yet history does rewrite itself in different words, different phrases, different roads yet all the same. i could write poems about how you resemble the moon — exquisite, beguiling, and i am icarus, all wide-eyed, all moonstruck, all aware of the risks. but no, darling because as it turns out, this poem is about the kisses planted on wrong places and our bed, it’s filled with petals soiled by the earth. darling, this is about us, zipping ourselves in my parent’s skin, oh how they lead us back to blood and bones we’re running away from. this is about the moon’s deceptive silver shades and icarus, falling, plummeting, crashing once more to the ground. this poem is a mess of words about our downfall. this poem is a mess of words about you, darling. a mess of words about you — a mess of words about you gone.
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC
mess of words
i cold write poems about klimt’s the kiss, soiled and stained in your garage, how we’re all a mess of basorexia and urgent fingers, darling, take me in your hands, i’m not gonna fall apart like dead chrysanthemum petals. i could write poems about long nights and long drives, how the road had seen all those **** promises, love, we’ll never repeat my parent’s history of falling out of love. and yet history does rewrite itself in different words, different phrases, different roads yet all the same. i could write poems about how you resemble the moon — exquisite, beguiling, and i am icarus, all wide-eyed, all moonstruck, all aware of the risks. but no, darling because as it turns out, this poem is about the kisses planted on wrong places and our bed, it’s filled with petals soiled by the earth. darling, this is about us, zipping ourselves in my parent’s skin, oh how they lead us back to blood and bones we’re running away from. this is about the moon’s deceptive silver shades and icarus, falling, plummeting, crashing once more to the ground. this poem is a mess of words about our downfall. this poem is a mess of words about you, darling. a mess of words about you — a mess of words about you gone.
#heartache#poetry#prosepoetry#spilledink#words#heartbreak#poems#breakup
femininedeath
Written by
femininedeath
27/F/Philippines
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC
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