You left me to hold the hard parts of our life and the night, and I still try to mute the sound of my own heart breaking, but it breaks again and again, over and over until the shards of it climb from my chest and pull my lungs from my throat, my lungs that … Continue reading The Hard Part of the Night
My world has come crashing down again, but from the foot of my bed and far beyond the gates of my garden I hear you, calling to me, in peculiar sing-song whispers that keep me awake and believing we could walk away from this disaster every time we kiss, or carve our names into the … Continue reading Peculiar Sing-song Whispers
It is a hard thing, when a mind creeps and wanders and everything you want to say comes out as everything you have sworn you wouldn’t. It is a very hard thing when a mind, so full and so bright, turns in on itself and darkness feels like home again. It is a hard thing … Continue reading A Hard Thing
I wonder what a quiet mind, full of light, would feel like; and if my memories could grow cold, or if you would turn hot, outside of the whispers in the shadows you have only ever known as home. Softly now, my darling. Darkness has withered the walls of this place, and it is heavy … Continue reading In Crimson Screams
I will unwrap all of me and lay myself naked at your door, but remember this: I will bite back. With every promise you have broken and every lie you have told, I will bite back. But if you would meet me, naked and aching, I would give back every promise I have broken and … Continue reading Remember This
I won’t always walk gently. Sometimes I will stomp, and I will rage, and my footsteps will shake the mountains of love you have heaped upon my earth. I won’t always speak kindly. Sometimes I will spit, and I will scream, and the venom from my tongue will poison the oceans of love you have … Continue reading I Won’t Always Be Me
I don’t want to remember exactly how I was or who I was before you, and I know that isn’t what this world wants to hear, but it never listened to the beat of my broken heart or caught the pain in my eyes anyway. It never heard the way I hated myself when dawn … Continue reading It Never Heard That
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the maiden, mother and caffeinated crone
Poetry and prose by Basilike Pappa
