Matches on my fingertips ignite against your skin
The red burns to black ruins under my nailbeds
I don't need it, the grace, or bleed it, the dread
To chase Amy beyond the lines or through the years
I was naive then to believe safety lies with fear
Nothing can mend these cracks, not even sweet tea in June
But these poisons and promises taste almost like youth
And better days, lighter nights, and the courage to face you
Like locusts and Cyprus smoke and a time I wasn't used
Then discarded like lightly used baby shoes all over again
And so my eyes darken into sea glass and in the end
I turn to amber ambrosia to forget my name
And steal his, stealing precious silence, stealing all that's brave
And forging falsehoods that maybe I can be someone real
I never was, never could be, just another displaced soul
But for one flickering moment, I thought, "It just might be."
YOU ARE READING
Drinking Eridanus
PoetryThis is a new collection of poems. Themes include depression, death, grief, trauma and mental illness. Read at your own discretion. Thank you!
