i think of you,
sitting like you always do,
legs spread too wide apart,
knuckles interlocked, as your fingers fidget with moonstones,
there’s a delicate kindness to you, with a curious edge
and now, you sit four feet up,
on a twin sized bed, hoodie over your head,
you only smile when you let out smoke,
when your fingers are rubbing together,
crushing down green remnants
or pressing down to light the tip.
sometimes, i think,
"does she know?"
when there’s no green to be passed around,
will you stay?
or will you follow, out the door, into the backseat of a car you’ve never been in before, with a driver you’ve never met?
i imagine you
hands decorated in silver
a throne for your half lit joint,
sitting around faces you don't know,
engaging in conversation you don't care for––
when you trudge back home and lock your door,
********** the silver from your skin,
warm water drips from your fingertips––
you say you can’t scrub vices off no matter how you try.
the indulgence fights the cold and speaks in seductive tongue.
four feet up, under covers, 13 minutes past two
virtue appears beside your dresser,
it’s presence can’t be exorcised, though you’ve tried.
cursing its essence, condemning its existence––
yet to no avail–– you should know by now what happens when you defy your own nature.
-c.alejandra
Jan 10, 2023
Jan 10, 2023 at 12:09 PM UTC
i think of you,
sitting like you always do,
legs spread too wide apart,
knuckles interlocked, as your fingers fidget with moonstones,
there’s a delicate kindness to you, with a curious edge
and now, you sit four feet up,
on a twin sized bed, hoodie over your head,
you only smile when you let out smoke,
when your fingers are rubbing together,
crushing down green remnants
or pressing down to light the tip.
sometimes, i think,
"does she know?"
when there’s no green to be passed around,
will you stay?
or will you follow, out the door, into the backseat of a car you’ve never been in before, with a driver you’ve never met?
i imagine you
hands decorated in silver
a throne for your half lit joint,
sitting around faces you don't know,
engaging in conversation you don't care for––
when you trudge back home and lock your door,
********** the silver from your skin,
warm water drips from your fingertips––
you say you can’t scrub vices off no matter how you try.
the indulgence fights the cold and speaks in seductive tongue.
four feet up, under covers, 13 minutes past two
virtue appears beside your dresser,
it’s presence can’t be exorcised, though you’ve tried.
cursing its essence, condemning its existence––
yet to no avail–– you should know by now what happens when you defy your own nature.
-c.alejandra