your eyes are overcast today,
the small thing I can notice
when you're about to break,
but never down, always up.
a stormy blue that pulls me in,
deep into the salty air.
I was never meant for anyone,
so California was a wise choice...
me; the dysfunctional, neurotic mess.
you; the top of the pyramid,
the chain,
the world.
you're my cold man,
and I'm your sepia tone.
my Chardonnay,
your way back home...
you're my cigar ash,
I'm your bottle on the shelf.
my loose fit clothing,
you're hurting me.
so what is she to you?
she doesn't ache like I do,
scream like I do,
know just what to say
to make you stay.
do you pray for dugs,
for lust,
for someone new?
for her?
I pray for mascara,
subscriptions,
a trip to Malibu,
but I'll settle for the backseat.
you love me more than her,
but your love is fixed
on Santa Monica,
her kilos.
I break down on the balcony
overlooking the vineyard.
I have everything.
your heart is fixed,
you are unfixable.
-
Author:
β¦ π₯ππΆπ©π’π¦π€π₯ β¦ (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 26th, 2025 06:43
- Comment from author about the poem: sorry I've been attaching so many songs lately, I am unfortunately a victim to writer's block.
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
A sad poem of loss and desire to be with the lost. A lovely and touching poem that is wistful in a way and yet forlorn.
Thank you!
And songs are a great way to block writer's block. Whatever inspires, however the muse calls, go for it. Loved this and faved it, my friend. And I love the song too. Well done. ππΉπ
Thanks, Tristan!
You are most welcome, Hanleigh!
You painted a vast picture with little words. I could see it.
I'm so glad!
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