Sit On A Tree, Free
sit on a tree, free
Tagging the streets with trembling hands, afraid he’ll break the lace.
Digging in the wind with trembling hands, knowing he’ll capture my pace.
Flirting with bridges with trembling hands, laughing
he’ll remember this face.
My hands stopped trembling
it’s a chase
I whispered
the agony of the race.
© Margaux Emmanuel
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More Posts from Theinscrutableescapee
the bus
Doleful faces at the bus stop. I was one of them. The clouds were vehemently spitting thick rain, smiting the cobblestones of the streets, and trickling down our wan faces. Drowsy, I closed my eyes and let the cadenced sound of the rain lull me to sleep. Alas, the bus of perdition came. I never dared to get out.
© Margaux Emmanuel
wannabe ghosts
Specters
fruits of crossroads
wilt from bruises
deep rivulets
wrinkles carved into her face
hungrily
smile at the lost muses
nebulous eyes
hunted
haunted by ghosts
virile oaths crumble to lies
piteous floorboards are waxed
feverishly
discoloring jeans
a discolored organ pumps blood
mechanically
the door will open
free a flood
yet
a fire alights
begins to kindle in her lungs
reminds her
of all their damned tongues
forgotten Prozac
unearths an amnesiac
she gets up
discovers the phantoms’ tombs
abandoning her scars, she runs
realizing that there’s much more to a woman
than a lifetime
of sewing the dead’s
loose thread
© Margaux Emmanuel
vacant soul
Suffocating in between four walls
empty
But inside me breathes
an untamed waterfall
clemency
in a timeless room
waiting to pull the trigger
around noon
children scream
stuck in a dark daydream
pills flow out the cracks of the door
while I am dead, suspiring on the floor.
© Margaux Emmanuel
watercolors
A failing heart is brushed with the dust of silence
a shadowed mind shudders at a patient blindness
an orphaned violence
the whistle of our thoughts trickle
drip
while I fill the crevices in the canvas
with the remaining paint of your dying lips
for no sane words can describe my heart
sailing these fugitive waves
too strong for art.
© Margaux Emmanuel
a vision
Bankrupt fingers abrade lonesome chalkboards. Maimed hearts are stolen by an ephemeral breeze. Wounded minds meditate upon the adrift boats of the past.
Then, thoughts disembogue, and everything around you stealthily disappears.
© Margaux Emmanuel