Browsing All posts tagged under »poem«

(battle scars)

January 21, 2014 by

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(battle scars) so one day a boy will come along with lips that taste like gunpowder and he will make you feel like your body is a war zone, will kiss your neck and plant mines beneath your skin and set them off with long, trailing fingers — and sometimes you will feel like you […]

Get High on My Fault Lines

November 11, 2013 by

1

My Honest Poem I was born on July 22nd. I hear that makes me a Leo. I don’t really know what that means. Iʼm five foot six (and a half). I weigh 145 pounds. I donʼt know how to swim. And Iʼm a sucker for a girl with a nice smile and clean sneakers. Iʼm […]

why things burn

October 7, 2013 by

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My fire-eating career came to an end when I could no longer tell when to spit and when to swallow. Last night in Amsterdam, 1,000 tulips burned to death. I have an alibi. When I walked by your garden, your hand grenades were in bloom. You caught me playing loves me, loves me not, metal […]

So I Accidentally… a Poem

September 5, 2013 by

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So I’ve been going through my junk writing file. And partly because I wrote most of it while not fully conscious, and partly because I haven’t filed or tagged any of this stuff since some time in March, I’ve entirely forgotten writing most of what’s in there. Which is cool and weird and confusing. Cool […]

The Criminal

July 1, 2013 by

4

You are not a mere thief of my breaths – you trespass through doored veins, break and enter into latch-locked capillaries. You are armed and dangerous: I forget I have lungs at all. — Sincerely, Joanna    

This.

May 27, 2013 by

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i tried to write about your eyes but i ran out of cliches i tried to say you plainly but there wasn’t enough truth whoever invented this language didn’t anticipate you   — Joshua, blank slate  

The Way You Drink Your Coffee

April 29, 2013 by

1

I know  you and I are not about poems or other sentimental bullshit but I have to tell you even the way  you drink your coffee knocks me the fuck out. — Clementine Von Radics

Letter Composed During a Lull in the Fighting

April 8, 2013 by

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I tell her I love her like not killing or ten minutes sleep beneath the low rooftop wall on which my rifle rests. I tell her in a letter that will stink, when she opens it, of bolt oil and burned powder and the things it says. I tell her how Pvt. Bartle says, offhand, […]

You Will Hear Thunder

March 25, 2013 by

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You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, And hasten […]

What She Was Wearing

November 28, 2012 by

1

this is my suicide dress she told him I only wear it on days when I’m afraid I might kill myself if I don’t wear it you’ve been wearing it every day since we met he said and these are my arson gloves so you don’t set fire to something? he asked exactly and this […]

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