She was a cigarette dropped in a meadow,
Smoke and tar twirling through the breeze
Becoming one with it.
Her lips were still burning
Two embers, two piles of glowing almost-ashes
That became much more
As they kissed the autumn crippled grass
And spread like an epidemic
Like a half broken horse
Trying to fix itself
The meadow was soon ablaze
A zoomed out image of her words
And she blushed in the midst
Watching her soul burrow in the bellies of the trees
Gobbling up from the inside
Watching the grass become spindles of cinders
Watching the meadow become an ashtray of shadows
Feeling her own fire burn her papers skin away
Feeling the guilt boil in her core
Feeling the air get too heavy
Sputtering in the smoke
She never knew that this was not her fault
YOU ARE READING
Jars of Stars
RandomThis is a collection of the poems I've typed up on my iPad. I've noticed I enjoy incorporating nature and space into my poetry, so if you dig nature and space read my poems! Some of them are dark, some are brighter, some rhyme and some are just word...
