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The Plot to Steal a Skull (Part two)

Somebody asked me about you today.

I smiled that smile you adore

And got that excited look in my eye

I get when I speak of things I care about. 

I began gesticulating with my hands 

You prefer out of your face. 

Maybe I could have told them

How your laugh is loud like mine,

But sweeter.

Or that I get a bit nervous slipping

My hand into yours 

Because my hands sweat a ridiculous amount

On their own.

Maybe even about how 

You look wonderful when you’re sleepy.

Alas, all I said was I hoped you were well

And you visited me when I was away and

You agreed to watch horror films with me. 

That was enough. 

“Shouldn’t drink coffee… Get me an iced mocha?”

I used to be a poet. 

Now I scrawl endlessly

In internal monologue.

Now I sit and sweat,

An empty shell-

Full of swirling images

Of words I cannot reproduce

Like the old me;

A shell full of alcohol and

Liquid happiness.

I used to be a poet. 

Now I am a member of a

Dead society. 

I flow with soul and ink

And I am magnificent.

I am full and alive and

My eyes are blurred.

They say I am okay. 

I am okay. 

I am a poet, and more. 

Like they say, 

I am quite mysterious. 

(18-10-12)

Visual Puns

franticscrawls:

What do the mirrors say?

What does my smile say?

What does your blood say?

I’ll see you running.

I’ll set you running.

I’ll keep you running.