literature

Human Nature of Meteor Showers

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RockerByBaby's avatar
By

Literature Text

When I lift my pen, words freeze
like I'm pressing cold steel blades against their throats
then chase me with confessions
as I'm running away, so they say
talking about the weather
is too forced and cheap, I beg
to differ. Because every time I swear
how I can't feel the sun anymore
they run for shade, excusing themselves:

"So I've heard it's supposed to storm all week."

One day my heartbeat will overwhelm the silence
eavesdropping when I have the floor
how big of a deal small talk is
for me, an eyewitness
to people turning heads
to avoid eye contact
when I was trying to tell them
how I can't bare to look at myself
because:

"Can you see that double rainbow?"

There's a meteor shower cannon-balling through the night
sky, it tastes of burnt toast
because I yearn to whisper
how I'm one of those meteors
burning to land safely
swallowing your atmosphere
until it all comes back to me in crumb trails
of goosebump ashes I'll scatter
at the mercy of sea:

"You're...Not...Here. You're
not here with me."  

So if you're also hiding inside tonight
can't stomach the sight of your daydreams
when the world feels significant
as small talk
I at least hope these words
are a night to remember
Comments9
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fllnthblnk's avatar
"when the world feels significant // as small talk"--dang, this small part hits hard, I think!
RockerByBaby's avatar
Thank you, glad you could take something from it. :)
classic-poet's avatar
Damn. That was great. :hug:
RockerByBaby's avatar
classic-poet's avatar
That weekend feeling 


I don't even remember what my comment was about but I'll just play along. :lmao:
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