Alarmingly honest and beautifully written.
I thought I ate that bleeding peach
enough times for my chin to stain
a sour shade of pink.
I can’t recall, the moments fell like towers-
but did I grind the pit into a powder?
Pressed beneath the skin like all the hours
you never spoke to me.
And every grain of it is like a silt of iron filings,
that’s settled in the center where
you said there was a furnace
burning hotter than the sea.
I always want to tell you that
it felt more like a cage that held
the eyeballs of a voyeur.
Either way the poles rip holes
with every waking hour.
When all your love for me was spent in
was it frail just like a springtime flower?
Or was it more like fingertips in winter-
a livid numb that in time feels like power?
Or was it more a nihilistic…
View original post 64 more words