he has casper hands
and willow sleeves,
each just as much a part of me
as toxins I breathe.
sickly sweet, dirty girl
you are making me follow you
and level up fucked-up style.
[don't you realise,
don't you realise,
don't you - stop these tears -
don't you - remember us?]
don't.
my past is only volatile liquids
and unsequenced consequences,
wound up penne parcels,
crippling,
cramping,
crawling -
drilling me.
but it's my own beautiful fallout,
so I'll fall in love with the hostility
afuckinggen.
no memory is apathy;
if you remember it, it whipped your mind
and made you her bitch,
so don't lie.
don't lie,
it hurt,
it hurt you even worse.
Author notes
whatever, maybe?
interpret how you will.
A contest entry
- Let these clenched fists open wide, to see where all the answers lie by whiterabbit..
1200 points, ended October 1, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
-;--:-
Comments
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An intense, emotional vivisection of a perceived relationship, and I’ve always ascribed that poetry is an adept therapy.
Nicely penned.
mj.
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Great write. Bitterness. "Sickly sweet" is phrase that fits the whole poem. A wonderful jewel of truth you provided here. An insite to life.
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i have no idea how to take this, i mean with the background and the poem , i have no idea what to say, but somehow it fits, keep it flowing
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I really like this and I love how you've written it.
I love the creativity and originality here. The emotions are just amazing.
Your writing is brilliant.
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