A few lonely souls
Are hunting my ghosts
In a forlorn farmhouse,
Beside your graveyard.
Hard to drive while I'm
Drinking a cup of my tears,
Shovel is in the back,
Knives are in my back.
My trunk is full of you -
I'm drunk, but I'm trying
My best - against the odds -
Keeping the car on the road.
You thought it'll break me -
You're going back to your folks -
We argued, you said goodbye.
But you can't leave me now, can you?
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Author:
anna_noday (
Offline) - Published: November 22nd, 2021 02:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Love is often mixed with possession, but actually it's two different things.
- Category: Love
- Views: 16
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments1
really like the way you captured
the 'feel' of the 'moment';
there is no insightful retrospective outlook, to your wording
of what are just raw intense, realisations
appearing to you, as your write each line of self-excavated, reasoned: sensation's;
depicting, being engulfed in this chaos of emotions, wondering
somewhere - how ludicrous
that just a few hours ago
we were two lovebirds, embracing our seemingly faultless romance...
indeed, that's how slippery
our connections can become
and inevitably, when
our grip - slips
this is indeed how we feel:
'Hard to drive while I'm
Drinking a cup of my tears,
Shovel is in the back,
Knives are in my back.
My trunk is full of you -
I'm drunk, but I'm trying
My best - against the odds -
Keeping the car on the road.'
Thank you so much! 🥺 You really made my day 🥰
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