In depression's hold
Time creeps, a weight that won't shift
Days blend into one.
About the Creator
Kahlee
Kahlee has been on a mission since she was a little girl – to bring awareness of social issues through her writing. But don't be fooled by her serious subject – Kahlee knows how to keep things fun and quirky (sometimes).
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress5 days ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.