You know I’ll be around when your heart starts tearing,
When it gets harder to breathe and you start heaving,
And the room gets darker and hope seems fainter,
When The End is in sight and you can’t be any more eager.
You know I’m there, before I can even say.
The second your heart splits, the second it sways,
In the thick of the blizzard; underneath the snow,
In the heat of the moment; the climax of your woe.
I’ll be around, by instinct more than will,
To see you to that same old trip downhill.
When your heart starts tearing, you know I’ll be around;
Conditioned to come running when I hear that sound.
You call me over to listen to thoughts of calling quits,
What ifs, and regrets, to the beat of your broken heart, moonlit.
I’ll be there, I don’t have to say,
At the first beat of that broken heart, I’ll be on my way.
Word count: 160
Is it weird that I message you at the most complicated times of your life? You’ve yourself to thank.
Was there a start without an inevitable end?
When lines reach the edge,
Do they keep going or simply bend?
Why are these letters addressed,
If you had no intention to send?
Was there a go that had no inevitable stop?
Can I surpass gravity – to fall and never drop?
How low can I go
Before I find myself crawling up?
Why would you let the phone ring thrice
If you had no intention to wait for me to pick up?
Word count: 82
Through death; post-grim
Her voice still ring.
In still she instilled
A steady growing din.
Unspoken words, uncovered.
A secret, her secret:
one’s to be seen.
Rest, she’ll never.
By restless words, she lives.
Unawake till never
The sun set again.
Another piece to the puzzle:
her unknowable mind.
For the brute to dismember;
And the layman to deplete.
Word count: 61
Unseen Sylvia Plath Poems Deciphered in Carbon Paper
White dry lies
Diamonds in the sand
White dry sand
White dry lines
Outside looking in
I don’t think I’m having fun
Crossed some lines
White dry eyes
I shouldn’t have
The quiet me
White dry skies
Word count: 45
I keep trying to impress the wrong people.
I keep lying about second-guessing lies about second-guessing myself.
Word count: 9
Give me a word, just one. Hello? “Hello”. Thanks
This isn’t what you need,
And how couldn’t you know?
Because it’s not me you’re mad at,
Look in the mirror, you’ll see;
You don’t know what you want,
And that frustrates you.
I’m not here to see you out,
Just listen to me talk;
Because I’ve tried this before,
Now isn’t any different.
It should come naturally, you think,
But know now it never does.
Everything will never be enough,
Not for the likes of you.
Word count: 77
The sound was fading
More tired with each strum
Tired sighs frequent
Singing with the strings
An appropriate augment
The six-stringed instrument
Was heavy on her lap
Weighed down by an unfinished lament
The guitar’s sharp claws
Dug into her fingers
Which from hours of practice were raw
Her voice now sore
It screamed for rest
Enough of this, no more
Her arms had dropped
But not by her will
From exhaustion, her body stopped
Only one remained
With the beat of the unfinished song
Pray dear heart
She finally said
Be at peace lest we’re torn apart
By this lost sonnet
Which his ears will never hear
We’ll heal I know
We’ll heal I swear it
Word count: 125
It’s probably too much,
I shouldn’t even ask.
And you’re probably tired,
So I’ll just ask later.
But it’s getting pretty late,
Maybe I’ll ask tomorrow.
Work’s probably hell right now,
On the weekend, for sure.
You’ll probably be resting then.
Next week will be good, yeah, next week.
But I miss you now,
And it’s been months.
I’m not waiting.
Because you aren’t taking any hints.
I’m not asking because I shouldn’t even have to.
Yeah, I’m tired
But I can rest later.
But I can’t wait till tomorrow.
And work’s hell right now;
Nothing I can’t make up for on the weekend.
I should be resting right now,
But I can’t take another week of this.
My bag’s packed since this morning.
Finally. So, maybe soon,
You’d come and see me for once.
Word count: 137
I wrote this piece after PartyNextDoor’s Come And See Me. I don’t really know why I wrote this. I think it’s for me, or maybe for a friend; but it’s the internet’s now.
The shy empty pages of this book
Stare back in anxious waiting.
After a forever in a dark nook
It has done its hibernating.
The blank tome stares
At the old and tired forebearer,
Worn, with more than a few tears,
Cover to cover filled- its answered prayer.
Now its turn has come
to aid in the author’s trade.
It longed the scribbling hum-
The sound of ideas being made.
But the author can’t seem
To make pen find paper.
To start with the year – too much for a dream.
Word count: 92
Happy New Year! This is technically the first post of the year since I wrote the review for Padstow’s Farewell before the holiday break last year. It’s a brand new year and I’m planning to post twice as often as I did last year. It’s a rough start, but a start nonetheless. I’ll be busier this year but I still want to put out at least a review and a writing post weekly. I’m also planning to make my chapbook, Precognition, available for free download, with online-exclusive pieces, for a limited time.
Her smile met my eyes,
As I turned from reading the horizon.
The setting sun transformed her,
A bloodless deity.
I wouldn’t have noticed her come in,
If I wanted to.
She wouldn’t have,
Wanted me to.
She wanted me too.
Psychic, she shook her head,
Before I could ask my tired question.
“Stay as long as you need,”
I say with still lips instead.
Neither an approval nor a denial
I couldn’t remember,
The last time I’ve seen darkness.
Sleep isn’t for those,
I let the sun get bored,
Of our still play.
Statues on stage.
Ballet-ing to the silence in our stares,
To the beat of off-beat hearts.
I gave no permission to the moon.
The night was here
She had faded, but not her smile
All that remained were words unsaid.
Word count: 138
This piece was one of the entries in the first and currently only chapbook I’ve ever put out. The collection is called Precognition and it contains 12 poems. Hit me up if you are interested in a physical copy.