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lunacy. by lizilicious, literature

Literature

lunacy.

what the moon teaches us is no one exists as a constant. some days you will orbit elsewhere. the angles of light that make up the shadows of you will keep moving. it is the same with the ocean and how it does not meet the shore the same each time: some days it will come crashing, eroding: or it comes back to kiss its edges over and over there are some days i am more of a tsunami. there will be days you will be eclipsed. and i don't mind this. the moon is up in the sky but the ocean still feels the weight of its pull, always. i want to drown in the push and pull of your gravity in all the ways that's possible. i could get used to the di

Autumn Again by stargirl2791, literature

Literature

Autumn Again

i. Autumn The leaves are just starting to turn – someone has been tattooing them, highlighting their silhouettes with goldenrod, and gossamer dew pearls hang in the grass in the early morning. We can feel the frost framing our days, the hint of it in our cups of tea and in our scarves draped over sweatshirts (it’s not quite cold enough for a coat yet), and in the musk of the understory and the fireplaces that fill our lungs and we exhale this out into the night and we form nebulae with the water vapor in our breath. And when the first echoes of shivers start to blur our outlines, we snuggle, sweater to sweater, and dream of

The Art of Poetry Killing by LeftUnfinished, literature

Literature

The Art of Poetry Killing

When I find an old poem Packaged beneath an allegory Or taped beside a piece of prose, Warm and balmy and still swollen Ripe with the undisturbed Words Within their plastic wrapper, I untangle its cellophane bindings To find it's too old And too stale for the proper use of a poem So I pluck out its Strings Like some guts of a creature And sew them Onto other dust poems Like the mismatched socks Of a child Just like murder is an art, I still walk away with ink on my hands.