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Literature Text
You have a nasty habit
of touching me where it bleeds,
ragged fingertips catching
rubbed-raw skin.
There's no scab there;
that wound has never healed,
festering yellow and oozing pus--
and each morning breaks
another plastic seal,
white bottles and tiny blue pills
leaving the bitter taste of almost-tragic
on my tongue.
Swallow dry;
that stuck feeling passes,
replaced by lethargy
and the diluted memories
of a time you made me happy,
when each morning broke
under a red sunset, the sheets
strewn around us.
It's fantasy now,
but I still feel the weight of you
during quiet moments.
of touching me where it bleeds,
ragged fingertips catching
rubbed-raw skin.
There's no scab there;
that wound has never healed,
festering yellow and oozing pus--
and each morning breaks
another plastic seal,
white bottles and tiny blue pills
leaving the bitter taste of almost-tragic
on my tongue.
Swallow dry;
that stuck feeling passes,
replaced by lethargy
and the diluted memories
of a time you made me happy,
when each morning broke
under a red sunset, the sheets
strewn around us.
It's fantasy now,
but I still feel the weight of you
during quiet moments.
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A collaboration with the wonderfully amazing 
!
I can't tell you exactly who wrote what, because we sort of molded and shaped this back and forth in the writing process. Yes, we did add on to my last piece, Hard Rock Bottom of Your Heart--I like this version much better!
GOGOGO check out's gallery, you're fools if you haven't already!
December 2012
!I can't tell you exactly who wrote what, because we sort of molded and shaped this back and forth in the writing process. Yes, we did add on to my last piece, Hard Rock Bottom of Your Heart--I like this version much better!
GOGOGO check out
's gallery, you're fools if you haven't already!Dry SwallowYou have a nasty habit
of touching me where it bleeds,
ragged fingertips catching
rubbed-raw skin.
There's no scab there;
that wound has never healed,
festering yellow and oozing pus—
and each morning breaks
another plastic seal,
white bottles and tiny blue pills
leaving the bitter taste of almost-tragic
on my tongue.
Swallow dry;
that stuck feeling passes,
replaced by lethargy
and the diluted memories
of a time you made me happy,
when each morning broke
under a red sunset, the sheets
strewn around us.
It's fantasy now,
but I still feel the weight of you
during quiet moments.
December 2012
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lovely