a hundred days of happiness: day 30 – poetry

written, said and done.

i couldn’t write to save my life.
the words are dried up
in veins tempting rhythm
tempting fate
tempting dreams
but the veins are broken
and the rhythm’s dead
and i couldn’t write to save my life.

you sang me a long lullaby
telling me of hardships past
that we’d already conquered.
we agreed we’ll both be fine,
and to some extent we are
imitating life the way we used to say
art was the biggest flattery.
you couldn’t write to save my life
and all bets are off.

i couldn’t write to save anybody’s life today
and the words are hard
because they’re so easy to bluff.
all lines entangled in a past
fading and bleeding into awkward fumblings
if we could go back we’d be
sixteen again, puppy love in our starstruck eyes
entangled in blankets
exploring new losts.

i couldn’t write to save my life
and isn’t that a sad place to be.

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