a student looking to improve! 💫 most of what I write isn’t refined and is posted in the moment. sparsely active but genuine feedback is appreciated! ✍️
a student looking to improve! 💫 most of what I write isn’t refined and is posted in the moment. sparsely active but genuine feedback is appreciated! ✍️
Did I cross the line?
I look down at my clothes, my hands, Slick with sin, Seeping between the lines in my palms, A tapestry of another man's life.
Had I taken it too far?
Rivers of red undoing, snake down my arms, To cup his face, porcelain skin warped unholy, Marred by my red-handed touch.
A brown parcel, bright bow, gleam gone astray, A note written in resignation—letters dragged and heavy, Dull the air of celebration.
A whittling breath, a hacking cough, Then raindrops stain the parcel in bright red, A delightful addition to the ribbon, now bled.
Beneath the layers of wrapping, an art work grotesque, A stitched, knitted, and hand-sewn sweater, Her will:“Wear it each week, no matter the weather”.
In shadows, he watches, heart-a-flutter, The way her laughter spills from her lips, A glimpse of her smile, the sun’s gentle glow.
He watches her dream in hues of gold and purple, Her radiating light casting away darkness, Whispering wishes of love for all beneath the dawn’s embrace.
When he draws near, her arms open wide - her fleeting touch illuminating his skin, The warmth of her light like being draped in honey.
Tenderness written in the creases of her smile, She whirls away from him, casting rays of sun in circles, As the light stretches and deepens those around her.
Drunk on a dream and feeling like heaven, That was why he still believed in love.
I struggle to breathe life into lines, The pen heavy with stagnation, Each stroke a weary sigh.
Abruptly it leaps from my grip, Spins and twirls, then vaults off the desk.
Once ink, my writing becomes threads of gold, Enfolding me in their fraying grasp, Caressing my ear, pouring their secrets, navigating me like the North star.
The gold threads lift me up, Intertwined with the creases of my arms, Surging through my skin.
Light, bright and gleaming, radiates from me, My fingertips cast light, Heart bursts as a pulsar, my soul stardust.
But the light sputters out, And I plunge back to my desk. The pen descends to my hand, And I write.
You pour your heart right into my glass, The sour tang stings my tongue, Bitter as the night you left, it slithers down my throat.
Your apologies hang in the air, A fruitless pursuit. Yet my taste is acquired, a bittersweet refrain, Lingering flavours of pining amidst the ache of regret.
