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Hourglasses and volcanic eruptions;
Stop time for passion this strong
Dizzy rainbow after
the aural
Downpour; drained to the
Ditches.
Hannah Draycott Aug 2019
I've been swallowing my teeth in my sleep
I've been texting my exes even though I told myself no

And I realise that it's just the late night thoughts.

Tomorrow will be better
I will make it better.

I will mould it with my bare hands,
design every scenario like an architect.
I will change people's minds.

I'm going to wake up,
I know I will because I've seen it, in my dreams.
I dreamt of the moon and stars disappearing so suddenly like every lover and friend I accumulated.
And although I thought I was alone,
I felt the slow creeping warmth of the sun
and it was then I understood how life is created and sustained through:
such gentle burning power.
Hannah Draycott Aug 2019
I find an element of peace
and hope in my slumber.
The moon, she speaks to me
in a lost language that only we
seem to understand.
She feeds me the bitter-sweetest
of dreams
that slice my heart in shreds
when I awake.

I've dreamt of loving arms around me
I've wished for soft lips upon my cheek
I've hoped for hands searching for me

I dreamt and felt strong caring arms around me
but when I woke,
I found I was only holding
myself.
And I can feel myself put so much distance between everyone who cares about me that I feel like I'm floating out to sea with my bed as a raft.

The Moon,
she does not care about my real life
only my dream life.
Now I'm a trembling addict
who never wants to leave wonderland,
because my waking leaves me so miserable,
and yearning for something more.
I get ravenous, beastly
sometimes maybe, delirious.
I forget who I am,
but it feels so nice not being me.

I leave her letters and wishlists,
in places I know she'll shine,
In hopes that she'll marry me one day.
because it's not the falling that hurts
it's the landing
so save me from heartbreak
and keep me falling
You ever feel like a poem isn't finished but you can't add more to it?
aise Aug 2019
tell me, in a gunfight, what is the probability of two bullets being fired at once? (2/6, i know, i calculated)

because i still capitalize the g in God, and i still pray every night for...

the chance that i'll stop loving you (the chance that one day you'll turn around and see me there, waiting for you)

and, in a gunfight, what is the probability of two bullets colliding (i already know- i just wanted to hear your voice)

my knees are sore, and this carpet is itchy but i still have 6 Hail Marys left and i still miss you more than anything

275,000,000- that's how many stars die in a day / that's also how many stars are born in a day isn't that cool? i looked it up just for you

i'm finished all my prayers, my knees are still sore, i climb into bed, my heart still aches, i turn off the lights.

n.o
this is for leo, my shining star
Aa Harvey Aug 2019
Rose


A black rose signals the end of time.
A white rose is a sign of life.
A red rose is sealed with a kiss.
A yellow rose shows you are unique.
A blue rose is a beautiful thing.
A pink rose is as sweet as can be.


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Hannah Draycott Jul 2019
There is a house on Southeast Bank.
It simmers as it has done since the 1900s,
it's been derelict for at least a decade now.
Sometimes, the local teens hangout and drink underage
but mostly it sits
Patiently.

There is a living room in the house.
The house that sits on Southeast Bank.
A leather reclining armchair lays, sprawled across the carpet.
A carpet in which the previous mother of the house would've claimed "costs hundreds" and "came from Egypt".

As daylight stretches toward the bookcase.
The bookcase in the room,
The room in the house,
the house that sits on Southeast Bank.
It's not unexpected to see
all the dust that flitters in the air
dancing to the tune of what was once life
a place for the living.
Reminders that once there may have been a family here.
But who knows.

Who knows what happened to them,
did the kids grow up too fast?
Did the parents split up?
Did someone die before their time was due?
And it's all written in the dust.
The dust that haunts the bookcase
the bookcase in the room,
the room in the house,
the house that sits on Southeast Bank.
Aa Harvey Jul 2019
Life in the slow lane


There’s a tree over there.
I know you can’t see it, but I don’t care.
I never needed you to see it, for you are not here
And I could be anywhere.


The kids are playing and singing their songs.
With experiences they learn their rights from their wrongs.
We are all teachers, learning all the way along.


Why is that dog barking?
When no-one pays it any attention.
Oh yes I forgot to mention, that is it *******.
It has never truly ran free.
Prisoner sent to detention.
Taken wherever its master may lead.
It shouts out loud I need to eat!
I need to run!  
Or I need to ***!
Language is evidently not in what you see.


I chase a ball of love alone.
Got no hot number on my phone.
The buttons are not worn out from typing text.
I have stopped my endless search for ***.
Just give me fresh air and a place of peace
And I will leave you all to your jealousy.


I see a couple holding hands, with smiles on their faces,
But I have seen this before and I know how the story will end.
The beautiful nectar that begins as love, ends as faeces.
At the end they are not even friends.


Here comes the bus.  Next destination please.
It’s getting late now, heading home for tea.
Still thinking of peace, love and empathy,
But I am incapable of understanding anything I have seen.


A motorbike goes flying on by.
Pretty soon they will be up in the sky.
I take the slow lane, no need to rush into the darkness.
All that is there is an endless list.


I already see the mother as she cries.
He’s being praised for the fact that he died.
I read about him the morning after in the paper.
Adrenaline seeker seeking similar.


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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