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two-parts-of-a-broken-heartPoems
I want to warm my hands in you, the soft merrigold folds of your buttercream skin. Lay in the crook your shoulder, hiding my face deep in the smell of ocean breezes and mist, spraying up around me, setting me free. Trace my spine like the highway, hitting every bump in the road, sliding off the side once in awhile to skirt down the slope if my side; tuck your knees to your chin, like you do, like you are. How when I think of you, I think of the cosmos, and nebulas, and star filled spaces All clustering like broken glass. Because that's what you are, you are broken glass. See through in most places, Tiny splinters here and there, so you can Still see through, see your reflection, But when the glare hit just right, you are inpenetrable, no ones eyes able to look for long. I wonder what you think of when you think of me? Do you think of wind? Always around you, touching inch of your skin, setting you free, or setting against you, heavy. Or do you think of somethin else? Something worse? Something, like invisibility maybe? Can you really see me? Cause I don't think you can. Not with the way you treat me. Pretending I exist only half the time. You let me do things for you, put myself out there.. And then I get excited about something , or maybe I need you. And you jut sit there, and pretend I don't exist. And it feels like my lungs have been cut out. But it's okay, what's the point of breathing anyways? When the life is knocked of you, again, and again.
0
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
It's late, I'm high, and I'm writing about not one tangible thing.
I want to warm my hands in you, the soft merrigold folds of your buttercream skin. Lay in the crook your shoulder, hiding my face deep in the smell of ocean breezes and mist, spraying up around me, setting me free. Trace my spine like the highway, hitting every bump in the road, sliding off the side once in awhile to skirt down the slope if my side; tuck your knees to your chin, like you do, like you are. How when I think of you, I think of the cosmos, and nebulas, and star filled spaces All clustering like broken glass. Because that's what you are, you are broken glass. See through in most places, Tiny splinters here and there, so you can Still see through, see your reflection, But when the glare hit just right, you are inpenetrable, no ones eyes able to look for long. I wonder what you think of when you think of me? Do you think of wind? Always around you, touching inch of your skin, setting you free, or setting against you, heavy. Or do you think of somethin else? Something worse? Something, like invisibility maybe? Can you really see me? Cause I don't think you can. Not with the way you treat me. Pretending I exist only half the time. You let me do things for you, put myself out there.. And then I get excited about something , or maybe I need you. And you jut sit there, and pretend I don't exist. And it feels like my lungs have been cut out. But it's okay, what's the point of breathing anyways? When the life is knocked of you, again, and again.
two-parts-of-a-broken-heart
Written by
two-parts-of-a-broken-heart
Australian
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
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