mikaelagrace2
The hall is flooded
with skipping rocks
and
floral floors
with velvet windows,
and linoleum ceilings,
There's a picture
hanging crooked
with a
chair missing it's leg
underneath.
And fake grapes
scent the air
with brocade
and lace.
His weathered eyes,
satisfy mine,
and I laugh
at the sympathy
of his tone.
Two far gone,
to know,
what's ahead
and down the road.
A poem a day
is art withered a word's way
to see what's not there.
Some bodies,
draw the curtains,
because they don't
want to let
somebody in.
Some bodies,
lay in the shade,
because
the sun
is
somebody
else's spotlight.
And some bodies,
stay inside,
because
sometimes
it's warmer than outside.
He drew away
from the ceiling
and cascaded
his hand over
the glaze of the light,
he tore apart
the wall
to see the white
and inhaled.
He swore
that
he'd never
forget a moment,
not one.
He was the
copper dime
spent
on you.
They ridicule
a famous vagrant
with
bearing eyes.
She walks down the
aisle
as the priest abides
to her every last word,
endless sins,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
watch as
she's marred with
spit and saliva,
poison and gin,
our promiscuous young lady,
just did it again.
She cries against
the sunset
with bittersweet
teeth
she's spent,
reluctant
with endless apathy.
Golden mane
with cries against a
September sky.
Auburn leaves
with autumn
lions thunder.
Credibility
couldn't be worth a cent
if the news wasn't
paper.
So books shouldn't
vanish
neither should
computer eyes.
Shriek
in the shrine
for her closet
full
of cobwebs
and sweaters.
Dolls and love letters.
And hidden cigarettes,
with brand new
Pabst Blue
on the side.
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writing since 2012 · 17 entries · 11 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Mikaela showed up.
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the words Mikaela reaches for
eyesbodiesthemselvesoccupiedfacesblanklyabruptbusinesseasetranquilizedanimalssuitstiespurgatorycigarettesscent