A Handful of Poems

"I wish to be the ignorant raindrop, sometimes, to think that it was my fault after all of this. Alas,/ It was all a bitter execution of will that led me to her, killed her, and soaked my world with tears."


7. Of The Stars

It was early morning, night, the time before the sun warmed the Earth.

The blood had run cold in the city’s veins for some time.

And so, stars scattered the dull sky like stains of red wine,

And she drank them up, intoxicated with the newfound complexity of it all.


She was inhibited and paralyzed with their beauty, unable to move her frame.

The dewy grass tickled the too young girl’s too old brain.

She couldn’t help but feel a little bit cold, little bit warm,

Even as her fingers, curled on her heart, became speckled with ice.


She’d settled in that place, rested against the packed dirt of a dying civilization.

Against her will, a thought entered her head that night.

She twisted with it: this might be the place I’ll die,

But as her cheekbones ventured towards the moon and her mind dulled, the thought faded away.


She found her eyes, now stiff like chalked marbles, focusing on the brightest star

The star came close and warmed her, like strong alcohol,

As it rested on her chest, her eyelids lulled closed.

Her cracked lips twitched up as if they’d forgotten how to smile.


Turns out she’d been of the stars, after all.


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