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after hours
after hours 20 Feb 2017 Tag: bereaved fiction 3 comments, leave your own..

 



                     


Severed 
words

they limp from the mouth 
like war
 
  .
 
&
still 
your
tide 
moves 
like 
constants 
inside 
of 
me

  .  

Before you i had learned to fracture 
..to peter the wind according to yours,
yet always you left me wanting 
wasting on the cutting room floor 


speak a truth, superfluous due east
my clocks have all stopped & hyphema is current



At another time you must tell me.. 
tell me of smithereens  
          



As you turned my head
       
        .
  
  as the flames 
     rushed
        in

Words: 79 / Updated: 20 Feb 2017 / © Copyright

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1 Recent Comments

Posted (3)
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COMMENTS:
67
Asomatous 5 months, 2 weeks ago New Comment

I see the movement of your flow, pausing but not for effect, rather for light and shadow. Truth, words severed and blinded by blood. You use the face skillfully; the mouth to detail what would have been that never came to be. The head as what could have been that is, here, turning (that moment seems a horror). The eyes as what should have been, here left unseen. What will be dispossessed by dust, these relationships that describe our penchant for loss.

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COMMENTS:
269
ButcherBelial 6 months, 18 hours ago New Comment

You manage to spill a lot of blood in small amounts, gushing to a sudden stop. This speaks to me of a processing, a severing and the necessary cauterization after, a restrained pacing that contains that spark of passion. There's a fire for every wound. Great to read another piece. Thank you!

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COMMENTS:
186
carlosjackal 6 months, 2 days ago New Comment

What a fantastic poem....Being burned by love hurts like hell but you've written it into something exhilarating yet doesn't shirk on that pain....Brilliant.

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