Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kay P Jul 2016
i.
he calls you soft, and you tremble
he calls you soft, and you quake,
he calls you soft, and you shatter
he calls you soft, and you break

ii.
you are sunlight. you are bright.
you are the breeze. you are the flight.
you are shivers. you are sweat.
you pray to remember. you pray to forget.

iii.
she smiles. you are lost.
your fingers tangle. there is no cost.
she whispers. you tilt your head.
you bite your lip. it remains unsaid.

iv.
you are alone. you don't mind.
you are alone. you want to cry.
you are alone. you've had much worse.
you are alone. the poet's curse.
July 10th, 2016
Latreece Rose Jan 2015
Bad blood stains my hands
as you chant bad news.
Your eyes are hazel--
or blue--
and they write a hymn
that is a metaphorical
sleepsong that
haunts skulls
that remain fossilized
in the earth
like a personalized genre--
either mythological or Biblical--
and no one sleeps
in fear of immortality
as if religiosity
is an axe to the ribs
mixed with psychology.

— The End —