barcelona as the muse

the city is on your lips tonight
as you die in a feverish glory. 
the world is not yours for the taking: 
you are too young to be broken. 
i laugh and watch

as you rearrange your life in circles—
what are you today?
the poet, the madman, or the king?
i hope the bloodstains on the towel
remind you that you are not endless. 
i love the curve of your shoulder
and i love

how delicate the human body is.



16 years old

More by GreyBean

  • and so i refrain

    she talks to me about the paper snowflakes she plans to make this weekend, and so i refrain from telling her that my bedroom has been decorated since the day after thanksgiving. 

  • to be a person.


    i feel like time is dragging me along by the hand

    the way a mother tugs her child to preschool/

    but instead of kicking and flailing and screaming

    i am numb to the days that pass