his alarm clock glows in the dark
a lighthouse for those days he
refuses to turn the lamp on
and his room smells
like a reheated dinner's apocalypse
spoilt milk and maggots in his mother's meatloaf
'i am -- so tired'
a cheek smushed against my bare shoulder,
a greasy half formed dread lock
hangs against my arm
and where his black hair grew through
is golden
he sings me to sleep with 'gloomy sunday'
and i wake up in the night
clutched under his arm
he sobs into my hair
and i take shallow breaths,
so his cheeks don't turn red at breakfast
i fucking hate it
when you tell me to
'hold my tongue'
when your dad asks
if you're treating me well
you are-- you always are,
trapped under mountains of self doubt
and drinking cups of your own sadness
when your mother's words
wrap around your neck
like a hangman's cloak
and anxiety fills your chest with
sea water
I'll leave to catch the last bus
at judah and 19th
with salt in my mouth
-
Author:
Prudence van der Linden (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 10th, 2017 01:04
- Comment from author about the poem: i love him most when his eyes bruise over when he hasn't slept in three days. He's the only person i know that's not ashamed to blow his nose in front of me.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments1
This is different to say the least. A bit difficult to wrap the head around, but that's how poetry is supposed to be. This gives off a refined feeling of defiance, and it's compelling. Fine stuff. Haven't seen a style like this too often.
"Different" and "fine" are often fightin' words, but thank you. 🙂
I only give honest criticism, an author deserves nothing less. Keep it up. By the way, you rinse your mouth out yet?
"I know, terrible joke. I'll see myself out."
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