ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
on the twenty-sixth of july
we kissed. we slept on the wrong side of the bed
and i had a cannula in my hand. it felt more like hospitals
with doctors and nurses rushing around the stab wound,
they stood back
and let me free fall.
i dropped into the eighteenth of august.
you hoovered your wooden floor
then laid ontop of me. i watched the freakle on your left ear
all morning. i made you a cup of tea at lunch time
and felt embarrased.
we walked for miles
on the twenty-seventh. i looked an eight year old boy in the eye
as we touched.
your brother broke your tv set and your dog howled
as we swang into new worlds. i tried to shower
but could not.
i drove at night
on the seventh of september. we drank too much
and watched the sun rise when there was no sun at all.
but it still felt perfect.
i lived in france
and we met on the metro, travelling new distances
and you pressed your lips to mine outside the moulin rouge
and the man on the train told us how wrong we were
back when you didnt care.
i flew back alone and sat next to two boys
who were laughing. you gave me a lilly at the airport
and drove me home.
i cried ten days later
when you drove me back.
we kissed. we slept on the wrong side of the bed
and i had a cannula in my hand. it felt more like hospitals
with doctors and nurses rushing around the stab wound,
they stood back
and let me free fall.
i dropped into the eighteenth of august.
you hoovered your wooden floor
then laid ontop of me. i watched the freakle on your left ear
all morning. i made you a cup of tea at lunch time
and felt embarrased.
we walked for miles
on the twenty-seventh. i looked an eight year old boy in the eye
as we touched.
your brother broke your tv set and your dog howled
as we swang into new worlds. i tried to shower
but could not.
i drove at night
on the seventh of september. we drank too much
and watched the sun rise when there was no sun at all.
but it still felt perfect.
i lived in france
and we met on the metro, travelling new distances
and you pressed your lips to mine outside the moulin rouge
and the man on the train told us how wrong we were
back when you didnt care.
i flew back alone and sat next to two boys
who were laughing. you gave me a lilly at the airport
and drove me home.
i cried ten days later
when you drove me back.
Literature
given up by ghosts
I want a wreck I
can connect with
some un-
settled sun
to be sung
and soon strung
from
strings
previously
unattached
a heartsong
plucked
in resplendent
collapse
breath snatched
in gasps
hands clasped
spanning gaps
and gulfs
engulfed
in our
grasp
a long longing
that laughs
as it lasts
we'll make
memories
(a thing
ofthe past)
Literature
opposite's day - collab.
i. today i ignored the dismal beating
in my chest [it held me closer than
you ever did] and chased after you
like a lopsided puppy,
watching your skylit legs sink into
shin-deep puddles with indefinable
bottoms. i looked as you left me
miles behind as i shouted
nonsensical wishes and
honeycombed thoughts to you.
[let's drop anchor and stop
this off-course ship with
a handful of windswept lies.]
ii. your eyes are like my mirror -
reflective, deflective, and unforgiving.
[the only way you'll speak to me
is without words.]
one of these days i will write
'ugly ugly ugly' on my forehead
so that on opposite's day,
those baby blu
Literature
Poetic Paradox
Bind the winds
and gag the trees,
shake down skies
and mute the seas,
bring the mountains
to their knees
for now is not the time
for poetry.
Suggested Collections
fuckery fuckerson
© 2008 - 2024 inmyroom
Comments14
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
The title = perfect... My old teacher always said the title is to "orient the reader," and that's exactly what yours does. Once I'd read the poem, I could look back at the title and see it mean so much more.