i’ll be waiting in this forsaken hearth where there is no more fire left to give me warmth. i’ll wait until the sun rises or until it sets. i’ll wait until the rain stops or until it pours more. i’ll wait until it’s noon or until it’s already four. i’ll wait until you come back or until I lose myself in this cold, cold night. oh, beloved — salvage me tonight; or else, I’ll fall apart.
i am fond of using anaphora. it’s one of my favorites.
there is a moth that resides on my bedside table inside the warm lamp like a womb like an endearing cozy hand reaching for your face in the middle of a frozen hysteria he rises from his bed of light every night a bottom floor full of mirth and fuzz ready to relay the songs of his memories slow dancing in the small space of my room like he's memorized where the floor slants and what parts creak his mouth moves in a jagged frenzy and I am devoured inside the falsetto of a pregnant hum so constant my breathing loops in significant O's he waits for my eyes to close so that his wings open up moving the dust to gather itself and move to another part of the house the fluttering in sync with the wavering of the hypnotic sound waves the antennae sighing along with the mist outside slowly forming on the windowsill my head becomes a hot sun and as the beads of sweat trickle he moves closer until he reaches with spindly legs drying the perspiration from my forehead with a tongue that shushes me to sleep until I am still in a cocoon of silk telling me that want and need are always the same things always the same things
i submitted this into a contest but I think I'd rather just post it here