PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

the apple of his eyes,
my body slithered
,already a snake, tightly holding him
like a children’s glove / my eyes pulled open
like pits in stretched yarn
everything
was falling through them. the souls
of catholic children are spikes
that want to be pillars
tucked between kidneys and
toes. my soul was bouncing
in the darkness of the bedroom
opening and closing
without me, the morning still
waiting by the window, still just
distant egg-whites. all i wanted was
lips. our hearts aren’t on
our hearts aren’t on. time,
so drunk, started stumbling
through the radio in the form
of the yells the world had needed once.
a frozen watchpiece, his soul
shaped like a broken bottle-neck began
to bleed inside of me. his eyes bulged wide and round
as translucent and white as crystal balls
seeing the future
“they’re so empty” i tried to say but
what i whimpered was
“please.”