PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There was no shot glass for my vodka when
I made it to the crossroads only to find it crowded.
Weathered anxieties stitched between my eyebrows
and it felt only right to hang them out to dry with today’s laundry;

the sun bleaching them as strongly as it reddens your skin.
My love, 
you have no clue how hard it was not to touch you. 

So I lean against the only bare wall in the room
with my fingers twitching to hold something,

but all the packs of cigarettes were empty 
and there was no castle of beer cans in the hall. 
If I raised my head I can see your

thin figure standing over the stove top
begging

water to boil as the T.V. screen screamed like our parents did: 
You will burn in Hell for your sins!