Tragedy disguised as poetry

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


A self-depreciating look into the core of the heaviness of depression, and it's impact on the way I saw the World.

Submitted: June 21, 2018

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Submitted: June 21, 2018

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You served me like bitter coffee.

Everything tastes different, today.

My guitar doesn’t even play the same.

Clumsy fingers writing broken melodies

Of lost loves and lives.

Too old to live, too young to die.

You cut me open on your broken pieces;

Marked with jagged tooth, bleeding lips.

Your bruises on your throat

Worn ‘round your neck like the finest pearls

Hung yourself out to dry.

Our favourite spot

Full of empty chairs where we used to sit

With cheap brews and cigarettes

And pretend like we knew what the hell we were doing

And where we were going

Now these lonesome travelling trains

City scapes passing by in blurs

Of time and faces

Insignificantly

Hit the highway and drive east

To disguise this tragedy as poetry

Turn up the radio

And obscure myself to the void

Wandering these lonesome streets

And, alone, she dreamed of your life

Sitting on the edge of a knife.

And still, her coffee doesn’t taste the same

Her cigarette doesn’t burn her throat the same way

All those places you touched her

Leaving bruises on bitter hearts

To disguise this tragedy as poetry

Whatever you mean

You cut me open on your broken pieces;

Marked with jagged tooth, bleeding lips.

Heart on display for all the world to see.


© Copyright 2019 Letitia Loughridge. All rights reserved.

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