It’s a ball of knotted string
Stuck under my ribcage.
Whenever I start to untangle it,
I break a sweat & forget
Why I even tried.
It’s thirst after a tall glass
Of water, aching, curling
Around my neck like a vise.
It’s the damp
Lingering in a spring day,
Eyes that could hold an ocean
But that never look into mine.
It’s wild, honeyed laughter that
I chase around the corner, only to find
There was
Nothing
There.
No. I don't want to love you.
I don't want to play songs that sound like you
until they become my whole head, I don't want
to write a poem
if you ever call me laughing and cold
She has just showered, and her hair hangs limp down her back, washed of the shampoo she waited five minutes, forehead against the cool tile wall, to rinse off. The sky is ink and charcoal, but then, it has been for hours.
& walk around soho with maxi skirts & matcha & annotate the bell jar in velvet blue ink on curling pages with garamond font & wear my hair long down my back & dark sunglasses pulled up on my head & bangle bracelets that sli
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