The Persistence of Gravity

by suicidallyanonymous

There is something ravenous
in the stars
pinned to gossamer curtains
draped across the sky,
it is similar to drowning.
Or more like falling
into wooden arms,
hollow and unfamiliar.

Craft me a world
where the byproduct of dreams
are happy consequences
of your braided embrace.
Where braille intensifies
the deep rivets
of your remorse.

There was a time when
you’d trace my battle scars
with your fingers of wax,
and the persistence of shame
fizzed like carbonated soda.
Only this time…
you couldn’t drink away the reproach.

It is so cold,
the treetops have turned brittle,
and winter rests atop
the cartillage in your nose,
while snapshots of summer
are preserved in your sunglasses;
fingerprint-covered lenses.

I can’t help
but count the seconds
in the silence
when you’re not talking,
and I want to puncture
your vocal chords like balloons.

She’s got your heart in a jar,
but I’ve got your teethmarks
on the curve of my neck,
and that’s kind of the same Read more →thing;
you gave each of us
a shade of black to keep for ourself.

This must be what it’s like
to have caged brown eyes like yours;
haunted, analyzing your shadow,
as if you were a saint all along.
Let me tell you what I see:
You are no angel,
and that’s the truth.

I can almost touch your isolation,
like crimson apples on strings;
I daresay Newton would be proud of me…
gravity at it’s best: I’m falling for you.

You can take me for granted,
like oxygen.
Only more properly assembled
to better fits the cracks
in your conscience,
and maybe then I’ll be cherished.

I want to believe in forever,
but you won’t write me
in your dog-eared chapter.

I miss your buoyancy,
but that sank
a long time ago.


If you enjoyed the poem. please leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: