"lacrymose" poems
Swept the last strands of
Fresh cut hair
Locked the door
And went down the stairs
Slight vibration
On my left rib
Pulled the phone out
From underneath my barber's bib
Heard your tone
The regret and shame
Said you would leave me
For what's-his-name
Pounded the end button
Went straight home
Settled in my bed
And put down my phone
Two hours later
Puffy eyes and stuffy nose
Looked in the mirror
Grabbed my skin hose
Five hours later
Sore arms and wet napkins
Moist from not just
My lacrymose chin
My salty reflection
Stares back at me
Shame and guilt
Guilt and glee
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Craving for light,
The little rose sways.
Within aching petals,
Captured: are the gentle rays.
Shaking the biting winds away.
Pretending a crow's whispers are at bay.
All the while,
Memories replay;
Increasing its thorns day by day.
Upon the nights that draw too close
Amongst stars reluctant to share solemn glow.
The little rose, it heeds their call.
Slowly...
Surely...
Abandoning bloom.
Yes, but certainly the sun will always rise.
Just as it is destined to set.
Acknowleging the subtle difference,
Is something the rose now neglects.
Lacrymose, it laments till' morning dew.
Singing songs of times long forgotten.
Blinded by sorrow,
Imprisoned by gloom.
The rose—oh so sweet,
Yet so faint,
Seeks out such selfish warmth.
Privy, it sways towards the sky.
Clouds above are cautioned by these crimes.
Despite it all, the rose does not care.
Nor will it ever again.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC