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Literature Text
three am
in the morning.
were sitting
back to back.
im wondering
where your
heart is
hiding.
listening to your
calloused fingers;
i wonder
where
your mind
goes, when you
run your hands
across the
neck
of your
guitar.
the chords
replace your
voice-
for now.
im
wondering now
what makes
you tick.
im wondering
how you
keep your
secrets,
in a crowded
room, when
youre so
close
to everyone.
im wondering,
its five twenty-three
in the morning,
what keeps
us
going.
in the morning.
were sitting
back to back.
im wondering
where your
heart is
hiding.
listening to your
calloused fingers;
i wonder
where
your mind
goes, when you
run your hands
across the
neck
of your
guitar.
the chords
replace your
voice-
for now.
im
wondering now
what makes
you tick.
im wondering
how you
keep your
secrets,
in a crowded
room, when
youre so
close
to everyone.
im wondering,
its five twenty-three
in the morning,
what keeps
us
going.
Literature
to love senselessly.
we lost our sense of sight when we cowered under the false hope that one day we would feel brave enough to tackle our greatest weaknesses - ourselves. we always believed a choice was made whether to love blind or to love brave. we chose the former but it was later proved that both were possible.
we lost our sense of smell in the kitchen when smoke was all that filled our lungs and we decided we kind of liked it. you said it was the smell our hearts gave off when they were vulnerable and passionate. i asked if that meant every victim of house fires and forest fires die of love and you just whispered that we all die of love.
we lost our sense
Literature
Love, London
Dear Riot,
It was your precarious posture that threw me:
You both sat and stood so dangerously.
Even as I swore to myself I'd realign those hips,
Your heart promised your hands you'd mangle me.
[we D E F A C E D the Baldwin in my mother's house,
lifting priceless keys with dirt-laced nails,
re-carving those seven ivories,
into things like thrift-store love.]
I sliced through ancient scars to resurrect my mob-mentality,
To purge my 'kingdom' of your peach-sweet tyranny.
My self-destruction leaves you pleading the fifth and toasting unaffectedness.
Don't let your facade fool you, darling.
You never mind
Literature
Love slipped through my hands
When the stars collapsed--
You
followed
them
to
my
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a little different style.
i want this boy back.
how does it flow... too choppy ?
does the ending sound right ?
i want this boy back.
how does it flow... too choppy ?
does the ending sound right ?
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Comments24
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Firstly, I like your title. Particularly when related to the guitar in the poem.
I'm not sure that I like the absence of apostrophes, but I guess that it somehow works with the textual layout and flow of the piece. Despite the presence of other punctuation throughout - full stops (periods if you're American...), hyphens and commas.
I liked the consistency of the thought processes of the 'voice', particularly the im wondering parts.
With regards to your questions:
I don't think that it is too choppy, somehow the line-breaks just work.
The ending sounds right, don't worry about it - even the passage of time fits, because although these thoughts could be fleeting, the conversation is unlikely to have been, and so is the guitar-playing.
for you!