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
I wouldn't call myself a poetry whore, but there is something about a well-placed comma that really revs my engine. © Nicole Lyons 2018
I drink and I scream and I curse the stars, and still you are here, blaring in my fucking veins. Nicole Lyons 2017
I don’t know if I will ever know the truth of us, and what could have been, what should have been, what will never be. But I do know I loved you and I think you may have loved me too, and most days that is enough. Nicole Lyons 2017
I don’t want to live this life anymore, but you are pinks and deep hues, the tangerine clouds behind sunsets that giggle and puff themselves into the shape of my mother, when she slouched proudly against the cupboards that robbed my air. You are the pink of her that opened the doors on their mothers … Continue reading Robbing Air
I wonder if she thought of me when she cinched her belt, and if she had to punch extra holes in the leather before she did it, and if it was real leather or as fake as we were. I wonder these things, and quickly follow up my wondering with more, like why I am … Continue reading Her Belt
I feel what you feel, and I know what you know, and in another time or another place, on every other plane of existence, I would run anywhere with you.
the maiden, mother and caffeinated crone
Poetry and prose by Basilike Pappa
collective of indie-published writers & readers who want to discover them
I'll write as long as my lines live
