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Guntang Jul 2020
in succulent folds of solitude
a dark cell mocks the damp
as putrid bricks of emptiness
join the torrid screaming
of rusted bars
and the sinister creep
of mildew
as they waltz together
in the soggy shadows
of my sighs
Danielle Mar 2018
Stained ink to bring wanting. With concave, lights twisting

notes. Fingertips in unreal closet. Lights with mildew out

nothing. Pure broken tapping closets to ink fingertips.
Poem styled after Gertrude Stein. It was interesting to see how throwing out sentence structure and meaning could still convey a depth of feeling.
Juniper Zed Sep 2017
Dark was the night in the hour that you left me
I had no idea to bid you a farewell
And in the night that you had left me
I did not know the essence that you had claimed
And on that night my lungs were clear and free of mildew
But at the break of dawn, my heart was not the same.

— The End —