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| I had some serious help editing this from my boyfriend, who is much better at formal structure than I, and I thought he did an amazing job.
The summer heat: depressing, comforting, breath-
less. My heartbeat shakes my body--Every inhale:
an earthquake; every exhale: a hurricane--
and my heart is wax, melting within me. Aim-
less Saturdays lead
to something beautiful: the overuse of
adjectives, love of the obscene. Brewing quakes
and hurricanes, where you read me poetry
as the world ends… The world ends and I'd rather
hear your voice. Your lips move
but I’m not au fait de
But…
you promised… you promised…
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| In the summer heat, both depressing and comforting,
I lie breathless, my heartbeat shaking my entire body
-Every inhale an earthquake, every exhale a hurricane-
And my heart is like wax; It is melted within me.
Every aimless Saturday that has led to something beautiful,
The overuse of adjectives, love of the obscene,
Has been brewing earthquakes and hurricanes.
And as the world ends, you recite poetry.
I'd rather hear your voice than any other sound in the world.
I see your lips moving though I can't comprehend,
But
You promised, you promised.
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| You have not yet seen me in the winter
When snow feeds on the flesh of the earth like frostbite and
Flakes, relentless in their descent from heaven,
Crash to the ground.
Vapors from warm breath crystallize on frosted windows
As I indulge in another idle conversation with Death
Who always leaves me convinced I am too young
To partake in Her intellectual discussions.
I cannot comprehend non-existence, She scoffs.
I wonder if you will still call me beautiful when I lie
Indefinitely frozen in my own self-pity
Or if you'll even remember me by the first flush of spring.
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| I'm worried that the best thing
I've ever written has already been composed
And every subsequent work is only sub par
If I could delve back into my own universe
And grasp those darker things which make believable poetry
Instead of writing trite bullshit stuffed and bursting with cliches
I might begin to feel complete again
Well, I was never complete
But I felt I was writing myself into completeness
It's too difficult to write about stumbling through life feeling nothing
When every particle, every atom, proton, neutron in my body
Is screaming "Love!"
Reason fastens her hand over my mouth
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| When you're gone, all that is left of me
Is a trail of broken blood vessels that roughly etch
The outline of your right shoulder
And all that is left of you
Is the faint smell of tobacco
That clings ever so weakly to my pillows
And the last echoes of guitar chords
That ring as sweetly as a love song
And soak nostalgia into my skin
When it gets too lonely, I recite
The last few lines of a poem sent across seas
To comfort me when I refused to be comforted
Letting the words float around me in the air
Dancing with the few bars of a song that I used to know well
We spoke all the right chords in whispers and quiet laughter
In the soft light of the early morning
I'm beginning to need you
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