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Ash Nov 6
tonight, i pull my blanket up to my chin
unsure if it is to comfort or suffocate
whether i slumber for good, or to wake
in a world most unfamiliar
Ash Oct 4
The bed only knows the weight
That leaves it for, unknowingly, the last time;
The warmth no longer pressed to its quilt,
The down that will never sink again
This came to my mind at around 3:00 AM last night, the perspective of the bed. It was built and made to serve us at our most restless, our most vulnerable, but we don’t often lend it the kindness to tell it why someone leaves. Does it know? Or does it wallow thinking it has wronged us in some way?
Ash Sep 18
and while I claim to be free
to soar over these fairytale castles
into bigger dreams, better things
some part of me still dwells here
and begs—would you still have me?
Ash Sep 13
my mother's wedding dress
cut through the middle,
a red ribbon slashed against skin
unwound, destroyed, unknown
Ash Aug 13
the moonlight glints off your fingertips
catching the glow—“just for you,” you say

the voice entwines with my ear, winds down
to my heart, pooling at the bottom of my chest
like a loaded gun, waiting for the trigger
to be squeezed just so, ending this sweet dream again
Ash Jul 27
words that can only be whispered
in dreams and midnight longings;
the melancholy lilt of a time fading
echoes into the silence, unbound
Ash Jun 1
in sudden grief and desperation
words I cannot even bear to dress
in floral or elegant prose
escape from me, in a wailing breath

where have you gone?
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