death by wanting

an ache escalating
to excruciating pain
until numbness takes over

the saddest thing
is they would never know
how you love them
so much it kills you

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

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falling (for a) star

I see you cross my skies
gallivanting with stardust
and oh how I wish
for nothing else but for you
to land on my lap
so I could keep you
in a jar

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

wordbum

scavenging corners
for leftovers
searching
for sustenance
feeding off
others’ bowls
remnants
of pretty letters
awaiting veins
to wrinkle
and dry

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

days before you

I don’t remember days before you. It’s like my brain chucks an entire chapter in the bottom drawer, where pages become yellow and rotten, finally forgotten.

The only signs of those days once in existence are the feelings I get when you step away from my side, even for a moment. I miss you the second you are out of sight. I miss you when we’re in the same room. Hell, I miss you even when we are talking.

I don’t remember days before you, and of all things, they’re the very thing I’m happy to forget.

~~~

For #WhisperingNeds 130, ‘amnesia’.

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

pathetically speaking

a star adored by many
scattering sparkledust
across the galaxy
showering each celestial body
except for the very one dying
to have just an iota
of its precious time

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

why bother

I watch sunlight kiss bougainvillea petals and wonder why I am up this early. Dawn and I never really get along; my heart swells only when shadows start to lengthen and the sun finally agrees to make way for the moon. But then dusk falls and I realize it’s not the light that bothers me—I don’t think my thoughts are here.

The kings of days and nights have been taking turns shining, but I don’t even know why the universe works that way, because we’re not in the same realm, and it’s not my leaves you’re caressing, so nothing really matters.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

asphyxiated

A candle burns
in thinning oxygen–
maybe the room
is better off
dark.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

when dawn wants too much

dream dreads dawn
it demands too much
of his time meant for solitude
in silence

he skirts around the room
where morn light awaits
dewdrops keep company in coldness
thinking they’d have
a few minutes
for peaceful dance in the shades

many mornings now
overwhelming sense of hollows
dawn’s left wondering
if daybreak matters much
or at all

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved