For this rain is a cold reminder that I concern myself not with selfless concepts — such as God — ,
but the mind-body problem.
._.
It is fear that moves me and the stars, and creates points and meanings. Her sweater feels snug on me. I want this closeness forever.
Save us, lord, if you’re something up there.
._.
I fear our lives inconsequential.
I want the smells and even the pains
to last forever.
._.
I love this water that once wet the curls of Zeus, and Asterion’s too.
Air rough through the canopies: Beauty is a thing of hate.
About the Creator
Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P
Asterion, Jess, Avo, and all the other ghosts.
Keep reading
More stories from Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P and writers in Poets and other communities.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts4 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Older poem. It feels strange to re-read some of the same material from the same period as this one. It reads like a different person, and yet I can see myself in it, too. It's just strange.