The blood of a poet
Poetry is the blood that runs rampant through my veins. It is the smell of grass against the harsh winds, that smack against my frail cheekbones, reminding me that you’re no longer by my side. The moon is hung above my head, but it sleeps deep in my heart tonight. Just like how you sleep so far away, yet you’re still right here with me, Awake in my dreams. The splintered air around me is sharpened by your absence, and made difficult to stay for long inside my lungs. With every struggled exhale, I lose more of you. Soon I won’t even remember how your skin felt against mine. But somehow as the days live their lives around my still standing figure, my longing for you becomes stronger. Tonight I’ll sleep against the stars, and try my best to hold my breath. Maybe the more I try to forget you, the more I wish to remember. As the earth wraps its arms around my breaking skin and bones, I can still taste the way you said my name on that foggy Monday afternoon. With your name stuck in my throat burning at the brink of my unrefined lips, the ocean seems to have gotten louder, or maybe ive just become quieter. Drenched in the earths familiar perfume, I’ll allow the softness of the grass to still my thought consumed conscience, while I dream along its echinated earth brimmed figure. The ocean reached out its silken palms toward mine, for it knows how much I’m missing you tonight. Slowly i whispered into its ferocious eardrums, Stir my thoughts against your waves, and I will sink deep into your blue wild eyes.
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