Warm and thick
churning.
I think of you and wither.
Bit by bit I swallow pride
and anguish toward you again.
I am the warped wood
curling beneath snowbanks
upward at the relentless sky.
I am building, damaging, curdled moons
waxing and waning in your hands.
I am aching,
you are my muse,
and my stomach is sick with heartbreak.
3 comments:
"I think of you and wither."
That is brilliant! I have felt that... too many times.
I had someone who was my muse for quite some time. (Not that anyone ever knew.) This reminds me of him. I thought I would never be able to let my thoughts of him go. But now I find myself liberated and happy... How strange the heart is.
Thank you dear! I don't know why he inspires me, he isn't very nice :/ Hopefully I'll reach that point soon. I'm waiting for that high and dry feeling.
It's always the not-so-nice ones that get us, isn't it? I don't understand why since I consider myself a very sensible person. *shakes head*
You'll get there, I know it! <3
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