Tag: TUMBLR POETRY

oh, god.
i’m lost
inside myself again
 
trapped between the walls 
of this flesh
and the implications of what
this means

if you ever let go, because
if i can be lost inside something
as small as myself
if you let me go,

if you let me go
i will never find my way 
back.

lost // a.s.m

dust constantly collected
on the windowsills 
and in the corners 
of the room, but
i liked that because 
i always knew where to find it. 


a firm
mattress was my muse, 
pulling words like taffy


pulling poetry that left
a sweetness on my tongue


and a purpose almost as
defined,
as solid, as sturdy
as the walls.


this was home home until


i grew too big and my limbs
tore down the frame.


all that remains:
my body, full of splinters 
and a yearning


for the way
the sleepy sun shone
through the windows.

Coventry // a.s.m 

i see you, limp
 
on the ground
in every room of this house
and sometimes on sidewalks
and in darkly lit places. 

i’ve been sleeping with the lights
on lately, but
they don’t protect me
from the darkness
that’s entered my mind 

they leave,
constantly illuminated,
the inescapable end
i discovered in your eyes 
as they rolled back
into your head
on the hardwood floors
where we used to build
empires.

your civil war // a.s.m

there is peace, 
too much peace. 

these walls are saturated,
dripping, and sickly sweet with
the stillness of avoidance – 
nauseatingly daunting. 

there
is always movement underneath
a still surface, there is always
something
eager to erupt.

Krakatau // a.s.m

they’ll start from your roots, baby
while you’re still waiting 
to come out head first
it will enter your veins
and you won’t know
the poison you hold within you.

and with every touch of your
bare feet on the soil,
it will grow, it will spread
from the outside in.

how were you to know
you’d be born with death
inside you, and that with every breath
it would continue to grow?

pesticides // a.s.m 

i reside in
what i don’t own
what isn’t home
what isn’t mine anymore. 

i reach for hands
i once found shelter in,
i slip on my feet and
scrape the bottom of this
circulating stream.

i once sought structure
in the scattered.

i’m carried off
to go somewhere
i do not know
that isn’t mine
that isn’t home.

planktonic // a.s.m