Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
tcPoems
Playing a harp with no strings I swear I hear beautiful music it seems derivative unconscious tussle-trap you sit reclined at 75 degrees in a chair made from the most bleached bones they were promised earnestly you seem to love me you do. I always tell too much, I am very good at poker, but I cannot lie about things when they tend to matter, the cards are pretty with rounded corners and   red shapes (not like the actual Heart I keep muffled under my shirt, overwrought metaphor that it is) I've learned to hold them flat against my chest breathe slowly not like the ocean I have swallowed my eagerness tasted chalky salve hoped it was medicine weathered electricstorms conjoined love and self (which was the point, once, and i think will be the takeaway when this is all over) lost poetry lost you become stoic but warm a man instead of wounded still I fear I always smile a beat too short lately, you always know, It's not fair, and we could talk later I could see you around but neutered love still is Love. Unforgivably so.
0
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
An old promise, a yearning void, I think I am still missing the point quite markedly.
Playing a harp with no strings I swear I hear beautiful music it seems derivative unconscious tussle-trap you sit reclined at 75 degrees in a chair made from the most bleached bones they were promised earnestly you seem to love me you do. I always tell too much, I am very good at poker, but I cannot lie about things when they tend to matter, the cards are pretty with rounded corners and   red shapes (not like the actual Heart I keep muffled under my shirt, overwrought metaphor that it is) I've learned to hold them flat against my chest breathe slowly not like the ocean I have swallowed my eagerness tasted chalky salve hoped it was medicine weathered electricstorms conjoined love and self (which was the point, once, and i think will be the takeaway when this is all over) lost poetry lost you become stoic but warm a man instead of wounded still I fear I always smile a beat too short lately, you always know, It's not fair, and we could talk later I could see you around but neutered love still is Love. Unforgivably so.
tc
Written by
tc
American
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem