† Grief

I mourn with a lighter in my hand,
cried with tears of smoke escaping my throat
and into the open sky,
letting every bit of your memories float away,
feeling the pain ride on the ivory clouds.
Grieve for me or grieve with me;
there is no middle ground.
Either take my hand or tear it off,
feed your inner masochist and devour my misery.
My soul tempt you with these scars,
I’ll liberate the red seas encaged within.

I know you’re dying for a taste
of the damage you’ve caused
so come on, beast of my past.

Tear me apart at my weakest,
as I’m soaring high in this dark, starless sky,
render my wings useless
with your weapons of mass destruction.
Kill my high and leave me at my lowest.
Don’t cry for me. Don’t miss me.
I grieve alone,
with this lighter in my hand
and modern poison in the other.

spilled ink poetry

  1. jhayjhaythejetplane posted this
  1. jhayjhaythejetplane posted this