Letters, Poetry

c l o t s

blood looks different on every letter that I write to you. they all reek of my desperation, like your heart reeks of me. my fingers have forgottenĀ  how to move in circles over ridges and falls of your name, but my dreams whisper your name to me at 2:14 a.m.; remember how you left me… Read More c l o t s

Poetry

Death, in waves.

death comes to me, in waves- in the clotting of blood on my fingertips, my lips tasting the same on my wrists- in the crumbling of the letters addressed to you, dying lusty deaths in my closed fists- in the eyelashes of a lover that weaved dreams for me, the Rhapsody now sounds like dirge,… Read More Death, in waves.