Poertry - Blog Posts

Glass bottles [Tw Blood]

When I was little, i had these plastic glass bottles

The first thing I did was spit my blood inside

I watched it sloth around as the cork got stained with red

I liked looking at my blood it was like a part of myself I woefully shed

My own blood I had decided to hide away and store.

My own blood, I let rot along, soaking into the cork.

Days later, i was going to eat it but saw the blood dried and faded almost dead

It was on the sides and screw this horrible brown colour, almost the embodyment of dread

Yet i still cleaned it out and ate it

My desperation is unmet.[Not my art] [character poem]

desperation

A word we borrowed from Latin.

de (without) + sperare (to hope)

forming a word that I'm getting more familiar

with each passing day.

Desperation: to lose hope.

Losing you would be to lose hope,

Because that is what you brought into my life.

That is what you are.

A hope.

A hope that, in your eyes, I'm worthy of love.

A hope that loving someone could feel so easy.

A hope that loving you is a feeling of warm yellow light.

My days pass without being next to you

And each day, that warm yellow light dims a little.

The flowers that slowly bloom in my lungs

when your hands touch me

slowly start to wither without their light.

I feel my heart gradually freeze

into a block of ice

that doesn't melt without your warmth.

Desperation

starts to creep into me with every breath I take.

So my dearest,

I urge you to come,

to hold me until the winter in my heart thaws,

touch me and bring back the spring.