Home and Heartache

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: January 25, 2019

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Submitted: January 25, 2019

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In fluid motions we sleep On beds of wood grain enamels Staring empty eyed At the photographs bleeding On the wall a profound luxury With every heartbeat We the lost and longing Grope at the table clothes Coiling themselves ever So tightly around our necks To cut the circulation To loosely used extremities And weep all hours of the night Over the should have beens Coffee cups over flow with pittance Of liquids which kept us dreaming In all hazy half awoken fits Stewing over leftover soups In plastic wares left in the cabinets Of our overly worked inaginations Fabric scissors cut the wound threads Of timeless human suffering Stitching our fragile beings To underappreciated comforts In these lost alleyways That weave through the corridors Of this decaying house Floorboards creaking Under the weight of breathless Amusement losing faith In each quiet evenings passings Pacing ourselves for the long awaited Daybreak's scream of false Productivity in these Whithering hours of both day and night Glued to a TV set I've become everything I hate Inspiration lost Like grains of salt In a loose grip Against an eighty mile n hour Wind of the middle american freeways Scratched vanities Scream back images Unrecognizable And the cat's beating At the bathroom door As the hallways flood With unpalatable vapors Spewing from the lungs A southern gentleness Which envelops every sad Misconception of my Northern upbringing Childish ambitions plow Through my mind Like blazing freight lines Along vast planes Bypassing every sleeping city Where the hip congregate In coffee shops To discuss gross injustices Against their over privileged naivitie Toothpaste stains whispering Insane wanderings Plated against the back drop Of black denim jeans Soaked in nervous sweat Baring no teeth The grin loses all plesantry Impressions lost on the unworthy Or unwilling to say the least Drawers of the sink cabinet Protrude in an unsavory Violation of misconstrued Precepts of personal space As a lost night draws on And clocks once more reset themselves


© Copyright 2019 August West. All rights reserved.

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