maybe I want to fill up on quarter kisses like ice cream; four quarters taped together look whole if you squint. maybe fantasy can convince me that you'll fulfill this hunger that isn't hunger, and that is why I starve.
because I'm below love looking at the starry cemetary above, forgetting what mourning feels like but still reflecting on the gaping hole left behind. after throwing so much of myself into it, we've reached an agreement to rarely dwell - but when dwelled upon, catastrophe.
and maybe I want you to replenish what was left empty by disaster, but fate would never let that happen. I click by pointless endeavors and dream bigger, stationary and still under covers too big for me.
sometimes instead of mourning the stars, I stare at you, which makes me sad in such a different way. there's something secure in having nothing and wanting everything. quarter kisses aren't available here, even if I have ten bucks. it's probably for the best.
and I guess ice cream can fill me up with the sweetness he took with him when he departed from my life, but I don't like ice cream enough to pile it to the brim of my exhausted stomach.
hungry for something, eating nothing. savor offers no retreat, and leaves one wanting more.
grinding up quarters, they're bloody lips and broken hearts. scattering into the wind, taking the sky instead - it's too much to hold inside for long.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Try [Poetry]Poetry
a testament to the troubling winds. my poetry doesn't follow any rules. ✨minimal to no cursing✨depression✨hopeless romantic babble✨ proceed with caution. 2018-2019