I Walked

At evening when I arrived - nowhere a thousand imaginations rose up in me like an enchantment I gave my hands hopelessly into it saw dusk graze itself blindly across the winter hills, blue as its heart and pitched myself into its apple where no arms may hold me but the echous ribbons of a long-lost past

Nostalgic Embrace.

I live in nostalgic comfort while I exist in your embrace.

I am ten years old.

It’s past my bedtime time.

I fell asleep on the couch watching my favorite movie.

In my father’s arms I’m carried up the stairs.

Sinking to sleep in the gentle sway.

My body relaxing once I feel my mattress.

The peace and comfort.

The feelings identical,

As if one was a prelude to the other.

roles reversed, crumbling in dust enough to cave in the lungs of titans. don't force me to breathe anyway, it's pointless in the grand scheme of cigar marketing. all for standing outside and watching the rays of sun stretch their limbs and lie down for the evening but the true beauty comes when all the pawn shops facing east are religiously nocturnal.

a hopper of trains, we can be out of here, we can be slugs happily avoiding the minefield of saltshakers set up to watch us perish. a tale as old as grandfather's medals, tears stinging eyes, hometown roaches feasting on nuclear Thanksgiving; part the lips and caught the tongue trembling common knowledge. that the boxing gloves hooked on the wall have touched their fair share of tender cheeks and retiring will only cause the maroon to solidify.

nap away the wrongdoings of foreign-feeling nausea. spin the story like a top on the evening reporter's desk laden with load-bearing ash-pokes the size of his ideals surrendering to keyboard gestures of love and floundering reputation.

echoes of life

make themselves known 

beneath the wave of madness.

i am reaching out to the bodies

and hoping they have not been 

crushed under all the weight.

~K.T.

L. V., i found this poem when you let me walk around your mind

Writing stuff when you don't have a full picture yet is fun.

Ah yes, the rumored gender, a rare and elusive sight

Imitate

You run

And I follow

But the chasing I do

Has left me hollow

I feel like more people should see this.

Burn away my cache of lies to make room for your butterlies Flora grows, fruit will bloom in what I had built to be a tomb

Spin me left, dip me right. Dance with me into the night.

and when we stop to rest our eyes, your heartbeat will be my lulaby

There is a hidden softness to the winter, though, like the underbelly of an old matted cat.

Fragile Animals, Genevieve Jagger

and maybe one day i will wield the scythe

my poetry can resurrect demons

from the past, so let me swing

another sharp weapon and

name it poetry.

~K.T.