An artsy poem inspired by artwork.
Also a blogger at Live365.com
Playlists, memoirs, and other wacky pieces.
When I say “I miss you,” don’t get me wrong. No, I don’t miss you.
No, what I mean is that I miss the freckle on your cheek. The one shaped like a chocolate chip, but that never tasted quite as sweet.
My problem is that I collect
little pieces of everyone I meet.
I collect their stories and their
good times and their bad times and
I'll sit here and listen for your whisper.
A shift in vibration swirling like sand on the breeze...somewhere hidden-
Resting in the deep.
The comet clashes with distant stars,
Creating a blast so illuminating,
The shadow cast became ours,
The city’s chatter began undulating.
We talked all night
and it felt nice
but why do I feel like we didn't do enough?
All I did was just listen
and that was it.
His anger is his biggest quality,
maybe it's because of the whiskey on his breath,
his drinking problem is a concept he cannot accept.