(no subject)
I breathe in the light
of a thousand streetlamps.
Raw in my lungs, I am bursting with your words
and light. And the shine of rain-wet pavement
like the fool's gold I found in the stream by my house.
The light inside my mouth, burning my tongue,
makes it impossible for you to wind your way
home. You are lost and it is my fault.
My bare heels bite at the darkened street corners,
unable to hold back what I didn't say to you.
Sunday was two months and still sometimes
I am intangible. The sky is heavy with the promise
of rain again, and with the endings and beginnings
turned around and upside-down I cannot see the stars.
When I exhale, the light dries up my lips.
It falls through my teeth and surrounds me, and tonight
everything is dark.
Something I just wrote - I've been toying with the idea of inhaling the light and stealing it from streetlamps, leaving suburbia dark. Probably that's been about a week, but there is too much else in my life (heartache). March is a lonely month. This piece is in transit, like my mind. It will change, I promise. I want there to be an image of a lonely headlight, it's pair burnt out from too much use, but that all feels forced tonight. For now, I have rehearsal. Please please please your thoughts or comments or ideas or your lif e.Tell me something that you normally wouldn't.
I revel in honesty. I need someone else's life to listen to. Everyone here is PMSing and nothing is poetic. Give me something to grab on to.
of a thousand streetlamps.
Raw in my lungs, I am bursting with your words
and light. And the shine of rain-wet pavement
like the fool's gold I found in the stream by my house.
The light inside my mouth, burning my tongue,
makes it impossible for you to wind your way
home. You are lost and it is my fault.
My bare heels bite at the darkened street corners,
unable to hold back what I didn't say to you.
Sunday was two months and still sometimes
I am intangible. The sky is heavy with the promise
of rain again, and with the endings and beginnings
turned around and upside-down I cannot see the stars.
When I exhale, the light dries up my lips.
It falls through my teeth and surrounds me, and tonight
everything is dark.
Something I just wrote - I've been toying with the idea of inhaling the light and stealing it from streetlamps, leaving suburbia dark. Probably that's been about a week, but there is too much else in my life (heartache). March is a lonely month. This piece is in transit, like my mind. It will change, I promise. I want there to be an image of a lonely headlight, it's pair burnt out from too much use, but that all feels forced tonight. For now, I have rehearsal. Please please please your thoughts or comments or ideas or your lif e.Tell me something that you normally wouldn't.
I revel in honesty. I need someone else's life to listen to. Everyone here is PMSing and nothing is poetic. Give me something to grab on to.