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[gracevanderwaal1504]

Blood Red Blanket

The room is still empty.

After the liquid poison that induces laughter and blissful wavering amnesia.

After pointless talk, over pointless connection, over pointless stories.

The drugs always wear off.

The identity is always lost.

The connection always flees.

A blanket always seems to be thrown over my head discombobulating me, 

leaving me dumbfounded and confused.

A once founded road, aimlessly and confidently looked forward to, is instantaneously lost and eerie. 

A blanket woven from blood red thread.

Its fluffy and heavy. 

It so quickly engulfs my ears, isolating everything that was once anything.

Covering me in hollow warmth filled with shame.

There I stand.

Night after night.

Caught in the endless loop of discovering, losing, re-discovering, and losing once more.

In the middle of a desolate road.

smothered in a red blanket.

[gracevanderwaal1504]

You

I persistently feel a longing to see you again. 

The faceless warmth that kisses me when Im alone. 

I know you so well,

You live within the smell of rain, and crunches of dried autumn leaves.

Within the feeling of curling up in an excessively bloated puffy bed after a passionate cry. 

Within heart sinking nostalgia when hearing an old song you forgot about.

I hear you’re voice,

You never say much but you’re heard.

An old southern man with his seemingly prehistoric wooden guitar plays a C# and just like that you’re there. 

Humming a feeling I can never quite decipher.

As quickly as you kiss my forehead with a glimpse of familiarity,

And fill me with a feeling similar to deja vu 

Like mud turned to dust on a old shoe

You crumble away. Transforming into minuscule particles of evidence.

To small to be proven 

But existent enough to remind your memory.

[gracevanderwaal1504]

The Lullaby of the Mans Eye

There is a glimpse to be discovered in the mans eye.

A glimpse that felt like a lullaby full of sincerity.

A fragment of the soul that glimmered and shined and filled me up warmly with a feeling of excitement, inspiration,, possibility.

The grass smelt sweater when cups made from glass weren’t allowed,

Juice was to be poured into plastic.

I once discovered an abandoned house as a kid.

But in this moment, it was so much more.

The very moment of liquid imagination being misted into my eyes.

I blinked once, and the mist of enchantment made swirls over the top layer of my eyes as the film of oil would on water.

Inside, dust was dancing ballet in each ray of sun the window allowed in.

The particles would circle each other in a waltz, then gracefully pirouette into disappearance

A spark poked at the side of my eye for attention,

Emerald was glistering beneath the ballerinas. 

I glided on the effortless wheels curiosity to the glowing emerald gems.

Knees bent,

Hands reached,

Then flinched.

In a swift slash, the emerald zipped apart the skin of my thumb.

As quickly as a bright red bead grew from the nick,

So did the vanishing of my, once undoubted, perception.

The misty film evaporated from my eyes, 

An evaporating worth grieving.

The dazzling brilliance of the emerald was now a confused fever dream that lived in memories.

Leaving a dingy grave behind.

It was just a bottle. 

A broken, dusty, Heineken bottle.

Elegant razor blades. 

Fragments do not gift glimpses of divination or secret peeks of light.

They cut through the suns walkway,

Forcing the gleam to do what it demands

And then takes credit for the light. 

Discovering deceits existence grants girls their womanhood.

As a tear injected with acid burned its way down the rounds of my cheeks.

They sunk in.

Leaving a breathing skeleton of a girl and a living birth of a lady.