The idea of romance,
That I can incorporate into words.
You wanted physical touch,
I wanted poems tied to birds.
When I was with him,
It helped with writing real love.
I was no longer inspired,
And he had enough.
He didn't want his magic,
To be stolen and stomped.
Where you ever my lover?
Or just a writing prompt?
Through The Night
Follow me through the night,
I'll show you were I like to hide.
This place helps me sleep,
And put the world behind.
I sit under the moon,
Watch as it gleams.
because how am I meant to breathe,
Without any dreams?
Unstable and tangled,
With all my drowning.
But right now it doesn't matter.
He's land and I'm drowning.
Her blood is starting to drain from her face,
And she can barely stomach a berry.
Sweet dreams are starting to feel like forever,
Conversations that are too weak to carry.
Her eyes are loosing colour,
No use of crying.
She's beautiful like autumn,
But everything in autumn is dying.
My scars are mine to trace,
My bruises are mine to poke.
It's my punchline,
And this isn't your joke.
Eric Dierker from Spring Valley, CA. U.S.A. on October 01, 2020:
I haven't a clue why but this left me quite uneasy. Maybe the intent.
Lorna Lamon on October 01, 2020:
A wonderful collection of poems tinged with poignancy. Beautifully written.