tainted lungs and lost loves by sadeyesbrokenglass, literature
Literature
tainted lungs and lost loves
the hydrangeas bow their heads to me
by the glow of the streetlamp.
smoke shields my eyes,
coloring my lungs charcoal.
you're not here to hold me,
to fight against the current
pinning me down like a
guillotine. (it's closing off my mind.)
you're not here to take me
away on a plane to
where real things happen.
instead, you're stuck in
tamarack, thinking of
hallucinogenic visons
and the girl you'll return to.
somehow, we ended up
together only to be pulled
apart like to haves of a
shattered heart. we
lived only for each other,
but you faded away in the
mist of lies.
your voice will always be in
my head; an alarm cl
decoding the coda
distracts from the glance
to chance a trance
code inked down her back
snowflakes from fingertips
rest, recoil and draw
the energy she's seen
in the space between
climbing only to fall
this little thing called a man by successwithhonor, literature
Literature
this little thing called a man
alas, i sit
atop alabaster wisps
of nimbus & cumuli,
bidding farewell to
distant suns
dancing towards dawn,
freshly-squeezed
& draining into
puddles of cerulean
& i can hear them,
the altos rising from
stone-washed walls
& fields of porcelain luster,
where not even the promise
of earnest attempts
at self-salvation
can cloak the ambience
of limbo;
for tonight
i'll dine with kings,
but already i've grown hungry
for the vintage
Bitter-boned, I break and crumble to dust
My pockets full of keys to places that no longer exist
An oystershell ashtray full of butts and ashes beside me
Testify to dreams of green hedges and white picket fences
A tapping on the door, a rapping on the wall
Ghosts always like this hour just before dawn
A bird screeches and I wake again to the stinging day
And shufflestep towards home from a thousand worlds away
9 o'clock and
a nightingale song
clatters forth
from a starling winged night
in perfect mimickry.
The moon and her mandrake
baby screech whites,
peel trees to bone. Blacks
shiver down.
-
The stars meet
at hush- Deaf but eternal
jury. Atlas, stung by
each daughter: a pinhole
truth, still naively serene
after all they've seen: from dove breath
to flame. All
is a curse to the lampbearers.
-
O sleep,
The moon holds court.
Great judge, her metals bleed
into radiance, cleave twilight to hill.
She bobs socketless
through aether and flame, &
to her gleaming calm
all shadows die. No illusions survive
but reflecti
i.
She sits all alone by the sea
before the empty stretch;
whispered winds wandering through,
without any hope
of a realisation.
ii.
The hush of skin on skin,
such submission in her posture
to shimmy past boulders and pebbles alike
into the vast emptiness --
what a wonderful death it is. To drown.
iii.
Wooden clunk of boats
rocking against the gentle, rippling tides;
brightly painted sides
and glowing edges
and well-ripened lichen and a lining of barnacles
which soothes the onrushing memories.
iv.
Gravel-like hiss of sand on the
sloping route up wooden stairs,
creaky, crumbling boathouse;
faded outlook under grey-blue c