Poetry

Razor’s Edge

/ Taryn / Leave a comment

razors-edge

I want to pinch the cold metallic shape between my fingers

As I cut lines through the druggy haze in the mirror.

I want the light to sing a merry tune along the edge.

I want to leave it on a tool bench and find it later,

Corroded and coated in rust, dust, and forgetfulness.

I want to peruse the aisles of a home improvement store

And find a box of ten just like it.

I want to see the worry on your face at the possibility

Of inflicting harm on myself when you find it beside my bed.

I want to have a razor blade of a romance.

Or just maybe I want nothing of the sort.

 

Anticipation

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anticipation.jpg

It’s very nearly like hate, that feeling of…almost.

A faint whiff of coffee as you open the door.

Not yet having taken a sip and knowing it won’t be worth it. Almost.

It curls in your tummy, a bee in a jar, a brief introduction

To a character you’ve barely met, dreading the moment you

Turn the first page and get your heart broken; almost.

That moment of vulnerability, lying in wait, poised to take,

Feeling as if either your own trembling or his welcomed advance

Will shatter you. Almost.

I understand them, adrenaline junkies, almost.

The humming beneath my skin that lets me know

That almost it will be mine. Almost it will be over.

Flirting with Death

/ Taryn / Leave a comment

Death sits down in the seat next to me,

Flashes a smile as he says, “I’ll kill you.”

A wink and a smirk I return, “Darling,

I’m already dead.”

We make a lovely couple, don’t we.

Persephone

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persephone

I fell in love with Death

The day I grew flowers

In the arid shadows

of his graveyard under

the blood red flesh of the

pomegranate tree there.

 

 

Unrequited

/ Taryn / Leave a comment

bedroom.jpg

Since you left I haven’t slept worth crap.

The sheets that once slipped, silk against

My nipples, now scratches and clings.

The dyslexic street lamp outside my bedroom

Window taps out “miss you, too” in Morse Code.

Drifting off into the whirlpool of frustration

My mind wanders to those moments of

Post-coital haze. Early evening.

The sun has dipped and amber light

Watches through the gap in the curtains.

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