Posted in Poems, Uncategorized

Wisp.

The last wisp of smoke

curls into the air

like the cruel hunger pains

that drill into my bones.

 

Silver, in the exotic moonlight,

I bathe in the crystalized water.

The masquerade of my lies

retreats to reveal blackened skin.

 

I close my eyes into the past:

a lone hair brushing against my forehead,

his fingertips against my cheek,

a tiny bead of sweat   r  o l  l   i    n    g    off of my shoulder,

and a thin curl of poison

as he draws.

I press my back against the chill,

a polished river stone.

Goosebumps born upon my fading facade

the blinding light of mourning.

The silk of a bloodied dove

carries me into the next.

 

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts with me in the comments below.

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Author:

I am a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s