Posted in Poems, Uncategorized

Jack and Jill.

I went up to the well,

blueberry braids bouncing against my back,

my king’s sun-scorched hands around my ink-stained palms.

We let go,

the metal pail descending until it broke the stillness with a splash

and winding–cranking, we drew the water up into the atmosphere.

He dumped the water over his head

 

removal

 

we descended into the unknown,

and he fell down,

the shattering of  his skull.

Strawberry stains against his locks.

My raspberry lips open to scream,

to utter the deathcall

as I tumble after,

plummeting to him, to the fragmented crown below.

Boulder that would be his stone,

I weep against waiting for my last

as the moon descends to blanket us.

-Eva M.M.

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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.

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