The White Lines – Poem


 

The white lines began to blur

as my wrists folded under

the comatose chest

pressed

against the mirror

by the thin liquid

the razorblade drew

on accident.

 

Crumbling into the bright white

brought the happy numb

that felt like seventh grade

on the last day before summer,

when she gave you her number

on that old beige bus,

that you left,

absolutely elated.

 

It didn’t last long,

and neither did the next,

or the next,

one could go on

until this love

which crumpled my chest.

 

I’m alive again

alone

in the dark,

forgetting about dad,

about mom,

and her

when the white lines blur.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s