Schlagwort: poem

somewhere
there is a women in China holding a black umbrella so she
won’t taste the salt of the rain when the sky begins to weep,

there is a 17 year old girl who smells like pomegranates and has summer air tight on her naked skin, wrapping around her scars
like veins in a bloody garden, who won’t make it past tomorrow,

there is a young man, who buys yellow flowers for the woman
in apartment 84B, who learned braille when he realized she
couldn’t read his poetry about her white neck and mint eyes

there are people watching films,
making love for the first time, opening mail with the
heading of ‘i miss you’, cooking noodles with
organic spices and red sauces, buying lemon detergent,
ignoring ‘do not smoke’ signs, painting murals
of his lips in abandoned warehouses, chewing
the words ‘i love you’ over and over again, swallowing
phone numbers and forgotten birthdays, eating
strawberry pies, drinking white wine off of each
others open mouths, ignoring the telephone,
reading this poem

somewhere
someone is thinking
i’m alone
somewhere
someone finally understands
they never really
were

poems from my uncles graves (via itsagreatbiguniverse)

Moth

hush-syrup:

Moth owned a voice all shaky lovely, inventive cadences, unintended rhythm and an assortment of limbs swan-elegant flowing like cursive, like the curls of her pink-teased hair. Most nights, under the gaze of sleazy dim lights and sleazy hungry men she unleashed sweet songs while perching pornographic over the sleek body of the bar. Later, bent over dressing tables backstage, zebra make-up smudged as her senses, Moth hummed soft siren soliloquies to accompany grunting clients like beat-box. Every nameless lover was a color, like green for spankers and red for biters and yellow for lasted-less-than-one-minuters. Never biased, Moth handed infections out equally. Back inside apartment, behind room’s door, Moth would line overdoses on posh wooden floors and flirt outrageously with the moon.

Rebecca

They want me to choose a gravestone for you,

But I do not recall the words you uttered;

I cannot remember the grins you flashed –

How could I build your memorial?

Every time my opinion changes,

I change my memory (of you);

It has never been a fixed point anyway –

Floating aimlessly, born from my lonely imagination.

More than usual anyway.

So surreal
I am feeling so distant
Like all that time ago
And sleepwalking
Nothing is familiar
Everything seems out of place.

My hands look foreign
My voice has changed
My face feels like a stranger’s
My body isn’t mine.

I would like to leave
But the heaviness of my body
Keeps my empty head in place
And my mind works slowly.

Sleepwalking wide awake
Breaking the habit
But not breaking free.