Poetry

Autopilot

The rises and falls are frequent,

somehow,

should there exist a possibility

of waves being locked in,

no,

waves being pumped from

this cardiac muscle?

The walls of my chest

must be holding

the bottom of an ocean,

A barrel, quite strong enough

to hold crests and troughs

A drum, so loud

so loud only when you’re near.

I could not be mistaken,

could I?

Science has taught me

that the moon can pull

all moving waters

the Earth cannot hold onto.

You must be made out of

the celestial bodies I’ve known

like the back of my hand,

affecting,

no,

messing

with all the supposed

gravitational pull,

How can you pull

all heartstrings in my chest,

the ones I can never hold onto?

I must be a planet.

The rises and falls are frequent,

somehow,

since when did my heart

start running on autopilot?

Like
Like Love Haha Wow Sad Angry
31
Poetry

A Paper’s Memoir

Lay a pen on me.

My old soul roams

around here,

somewhere.

 

I’m the cheek that

these inks kiss,

I’m tainted by

their feelings.

 

I like the scent

of every skin

that makes these pens

gracefully dance.

 

They come in

different aromas.

 

Some sweet scents

don’t stay.

 

Some bitter scents

take too long

to

go away.

 

But if I should tell you

a tale of my love,

then I shall tell you

that I fell in love the most

with Words,

for if he’ll not come home to me,

then my old soul shall die in vain

and he’ll be lost.

 

Forever.

Like
Like Love Haha Wow Sad Angry
121