A heart beat is all that separates us from death.
Life in the blood.
The dance that is cells through veins
Sometimes you don’t feel sparks
Instead sparks creep up like
The warmth of a summer ocean
As a wave takes your feet by surprise.
How do you know who truly heats the blood?
Titration dates might not be enough
Sometimes it’s a flash, like magnesium and fire
Other times it’s a slow burn
An ember that lingers long past the flame
One lasting and the other gone in flash.
But both will end.
One way or another
How do you tell someone about loss?
Do you expect them to just know?
Does it draw pity from strangers like
An inflamed brand upon skin?
Burning from within tear dark eyes
And skin stretched over sleep weary bones?
When everyone claims to be an empath
How do you explain the loss of love?
Now we expect someone to know
It’s their skill! Shouldn’t they know!
Or are your scars just easy to read?
Empath or no.
Approach at their level and you might be surprised.
There are always stories
In glinting and glistening eyes.
About the Creator
Audrey Larkin
I'm a young arts professional who is finally sharing some of the poetry and prose I've written while working through grief and self reflection. Sometimes poetry is the easiest form to translate neurodivergent nuances. Why not use it?
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The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders6 days ago in Fiction
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