Her flesh, a captive of words.
Her life, an interpretation of soul.
Nettles split the skin and lift
As we brush aside this side of the road.
Rejuvenating old memories from when
We first met; silent walks, sharing thoughts
On death in eidetic smirks.
Two figures, lit white by the streetlights,
Like the florets of the dandelion--
Disbanding from their headquarters
To float and be peacefully dead for a while.
Your eyes met hers after having traveled distant countries and having seen different shores
'do you know her?' friends ask.
And you recall her once taking you to a parking lot under the moon to listen to music in the car.
You think of the time she decided to walk you to the shops in the budding storm.
You think of how odd she was,
How you have always been intrigued by it,
How much you loved her.
But she is a headfuck
and you wanted to get away before you could get messed up.
Before SHE could mess you up.
'used to' you tell them.
Aged in fondness
Worn by the weight of powerful words
Forgotten upon the shelf
Neglected despite your cheery shade
An artist leaves a piece of themselves within their art
A fateful discovery
Thats exactly what you are
Beaten up, broken,
By years of dry land and drought of inspiration
Made alive by Christ
And awake in its pages
Your cover is worn
Your pictures dilapidate
But once you open up
Unveiled under your dusty pages is joy
Art of divine nature
That is exactly what you are
Worn yet beautiful
Aged and reminiscent
Evoking fond warmth
You are the yellow journal
Beloved yellow journal
Take me back to the beginning
In love with everything and everyone
Living with my soul thrown into the wind
Slurring my words over the phone
Sleeping with nature
And kissing flowers
Breathing clean and clear
It was easier then
More peaceful then
Counting stars until they turned into clouds
Outrunning due dates
Take me there
Sirens in the wind
Too vast for any pretty words to describe
Full of surprises
Full of everything
Life goes by
Hand in hand with Time
The little ones
Nothing can take it all away
The joys of the past
They'll always be the little monsters I wage war with back in the days...
When we were kids
A long debate everytime
I tell them to go take a shower
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
On the hill, it was just the two of us,
I thought I was finally going to be okay.
When we sat there and watched the sunset;
when you held my hand as we walked down the trail;
when you would blush every time your friends asked about us;
when we talked about everything and absolutely nothing;
I thought I was finally going to have something real.
But the hill went up in flames.
and so did we.
During summer 2016, I was with someone who at the time treated me incredibly well and I genuinely thought we had something real going for us.
Then he proved to be the complete opposite to the type of person I thought he was. I guess this affected me a lot more than it should, was because being with him was the only time in my life when I felt wanted and it was the only time I could see my future with someone. Until he did what he did.
© LAICEY Poems August 2018
the curls of smoke remind me
of the way
your fingers used to
wrap around my thighs
i wake up,
drenched in lucid dreaming
trying to hallucinate you in my room
holding buttercups under my chin
to resemble the gold in your eyes
and i’m reminiscent
of a time when peach meant
holding hands in your living room
and the specks of dust would
encircle us as though everything
was trying to show us happiness
and its various forms and so i
held your hand and we danced and
the peach curtains lit up the room.
it was your favourite in the whole
house and i remember how happy
you would get when the sunlight
poured in like flash floods.
i am drenched in lucid dreaming
reminiscent of a time when you took
my hand to hold it;
not to say goodbye.