Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.189.3.134
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
one, I want to scrub your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.

two, I hope that candle I gave you finally burns out. I hope the scent will still linger in your pillows.

three, I know the sound of trains too well. sometimes I still feel like jumping.

four, summer still tastes like you.

five, I hope she won't mind that I still live in your thoughts. my stuff will only ever take up one side. 

six, rip out my throat. I still am choking on "I love you".

seven, I am a burn victim. it still stings.

eight, sacrifice me. saw through my always like birch. snap my promises like cedar.

nine, the screen prints of you are still plastered to the back of my eyelids. it makes it hard to fall asleep.

ten, dreaming of you is a nightmare.

eleven, I don't know how to cry anymore.

twelve, I still remember your favorite color.

thirteen, is that why you fell for a girl with blue hair?
thirteen, snake eyes always reminded me of yours. the devil appeared to eve dressed as you.
thirteen, apartment 101 is lodged in my artery. loving you always felt like a stroke.
thirteen, I heard stroke victims begin to stutter.
thirteen, I still think of you.
thirteen, I still think of you.
thirteen, I still think of you.

one, why does your ghost still haunt me? you were the one who said you were leaving.

two, why? I was good to you. you're the moon pulling me like waves to the shore. I hope the sand scrubs your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.

three, I hope the bruises fade away with me. the word friend always felt like the swing of a bat. you were only ever interested in scoring a home run.

four, I haven't wrote a poem since you left. my muse isn't as sweet as I can recall.

five, it's hard to build a bridge when the wood is decayed.

six, I'm lying when I tell you not to call me.

seven, July 2nd will always sound like your voice. I want earwigs to feast through my drums. I want to go deaf.

one, I want to scrub your fingerprints off of my skin til the burning feels like kinesthetic white noise.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required