A Book Falls (By Cat Matchuk)
A book falls, I fall.
The proper thing to do is to pick it up, dust it off and hold it close to your heart.
Not me, not this time.
A book falls, I fall.
The proper thing to do is to pick it up, dust it off and hold it close to your heart.
Not me, not this time.
I feel compelled to write about my new tattoo, especially because a couple reactions were, “why him?” Follow me on a short but wonderful journey of self discovery and mild ink addiction.
Although I haven’t climbed these stairs in years
they always sound the same
under my feet.
Creak and splinter
in the same spots. Continue reading “Runaway Swan Song”
Shovel this dirt.
It’s not good enough
I need more,
more dirt,
less of me. Continue reading “Oblivion”
I can no longer tell if this shadow
hidden
somewhere deep
was created or always was. Continue reading “On the Edge”
Relax
here’s a small pond
The water feels like needles pricking every inch of me
but never strong enough to rip me open
I never kept track of our kisses.
I can’t remember which one
was the last.
The pain is not a secret.
Although I throw scarred leather
over these bones,
the angles of my heart still rip through paper
It finally happened; the girl’s gone mad.
It took one moment, took all that she had,
and amid the sunken stars that fell from the sky,
you can sift through them, find reasons to cry.