[ POETRY & PROSE-
SHORT POEMS- AN
ANTHOLOGY]
A BOOK HOME TO:
WOUNDS THAT REMIND
YOU OF HOUSES- THE COLD,
THE WARMTH- THE OVER
ZEALOUS HEARTS & BROKEN
SOULS, HANGING OFF OF
CHANDELIERS AND FIRE
LAMPS.
i pray that everything that withers/ are wakened like how our bleeding hearts/ lighting up the cracks/ and then, breaking into pieces/ i am holding onto what is left/ of the remaining chords that hang lose from your mouth/ a spider web of glass crack spreading across the blue sky/ to break open a void that hurts too much, and drapes itself onto our faces and/ here i wonder/ whether you even hear me/ whether you see the destruction under your hands/ whether any of this that makes no sense,/ makes any sense to you?/ how the world crumbles and you/ don't seem to be bothered/ you crack with it too/ you break with it too/ you go along with it all/ and i try to get a hold of you/ but the tips of my fingers brushes against your/ blood-soaked t-shirt/ and even then you love your bleeding heart/ that there were so many peices of it/ and i desperately try to fix the/ dying flesh/ but the shards wound your name onto/ my palms that whenever i pray and i look at them/ i remember you and/ your name slips from my mouth/ and an oracle is sung/ the angels turn their backs onto us/ and i am in that void the sky once broke free to flood the world with/
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