i wish i was the moon.
maybe i'd create a centrifugal force around me,
maybe i'd create a friction so vital,
the waves rely on it.
their names echo in my mind.
i hope this is the last time.
the last time regret etches itself into the cracks of my lips.
i am quieted by my failure.
i am failed by my quiet.
but i do not love so timidly,
in fact i am certain my blood vessels erupted when i met you.
there is a violent eruption at the thought of you.
there's an indentation in the stars,
misshapen by your grasp.
it always makes me wonder if my echos have met yours?
or is my world just that-
an echo,
quieted by the day?
YOU ARE READING
speak softly
Poetryyou speak until your breath gives out, and the shallow huffs of words they never heard beg to be buried; but live on in the sidewalks. - - - prose/poetry
