My fingers itch...
It's been too long since I've posted any of my poetry on here. I've been in a short poem phase lately. I encourage feedback, should you have any!
Alcohol Abuse
i dreamt you saved me
just to sacrifice me yourself.
as i was tumbling off the cliff
i woke up
and i am still
drunk off of your touch.
All that Glitters is Gay
Their masked faces painted,
plump lips, and fingertips -
iridescent dazzle -
and glitter fabulous.
He licks rouge off his lips
as fingers graze flesh;
skin that is not his own,
snapshots of dream-bright limbs.
A bodiless question -
his attention wavers
and his bookmark falls out.
“You have to tart it up.”
Family Portrait
The colors in the photograph look
as fake as the happy expressions on their faces;
merely posed, ready to bleed into one another
after the shutter clicks closed.
Though their faces are bright,
their feet stand in a shadow like a chasm;
overgrown with weeds,
the tops of her frilly socks gasping for breath just above the vegetation.
The apple blossoms match the expression on the baby’s face,
the only visible truth between these paper edges;
the blossoms gaze upward,
preoccupied with their worship of the sun.
The baby gazes downwards,
her eyebrows drooping, concerned, giving weight to her body:
sorrowful, and lacking control,
She sighs the world into imperfection.
and a new, so far untitled, snachet... I don't know whether it'll turn into anything, and I don't know that it can stand on it's own, but I like it:
His jaw cracked beneath the pressure from her fingers
slowly splintering, chipping away.
He called it his sacrifice
to exhibit his nicotine-stained bones to her;
gargling her smile before
swallowing her down whole.
<3<2<1
Alcohol Abuse
i dreamt you saved me
just to sacrifice me yourself.
as i was tumbling off the cliff
i woke up
and i am still
drunk off of your touch.
All that Glitters is Gay
Their masked faces painted,
plump lips, and fingertips -
iridescent dazzle -
and glitter fabulous.
He licks rouge off his lips
as fingers graze flesh;
skin that is not his own,
snapshots of dream-bright limbs.
A bodiless question -
his attention wavers
and his bookmark falls out.
“You have to tart it up.”
Family Portrait
The colors in the photograph look
as fake as the happy expressions on their faces;
merely posed, ready to bleed into one another
after the shutter clicks closed.
Though their faces are bright,
their feet stand in a shadow like a chasm;
overgrown with weeds,
the tops of her frilly socks gasping for breath just above the vegetation.
The apple blossoms match the expression on the baby’s face,
the only visible truth between these paper edges;
the blossoms gaze upward,
preoccupied with their worship of the sun.
The baby gazes downwards,
her eyebrows drooping, concerned, giving weight to her body:
sorrowful, and lacking control,
She sighs the world into imperfection.
and a new, so far untitled, snachet... I don't know whether it'll turn into anything, and I don't know that it can stand on it's own, but I like it:
His jaw cracked beneath the pressure from her fingers
slowly splintering, chipping away.
He called it his sacrifice
to exhibit his nicotine-stained bones to her;
gargling her smile before
swallowing her down whole.
<3<2<1