Let me make a beat against your bones,
and take up arms against your worries.
Let me do what others don’t
and let you say what you can’t or won’t.
Half-blue moon, in full.
Half lie, half truth.
One half of no possibility.
Here’s to the end.
Always the end.
Here’s to the stories
that never begin.
Here’s to the scars
There’s a balloon stuck in my chest, being blown up into bits. Then stretched and blown up again, tearing at my ligaments.
They’ll tell you, “It’s just a broken heart.
You’ll live.” They never told you that the shards
will cut deep into your bones,
Someone once asked me, “When did you know?”
When did I know? I don’t know.
I knew it the first time I heard you say my name, and I realized you’ve been saying it all along.
Sometimes, it’s as easy
to write a poem
as it is to
lose its words
a) one of a kind, a golden-spined bookbind, letters worn thin
b) a volume in an anthology
c) a textbook filled with notes from past lovers
what have we here?
your words are missing
your message clear.
I like your eyes.
So, what I did was this: I tore myself open. Just… went ahead and cracked my ribcage open, like gently breaking the spine of a very old, unused hard-bound book about How To Stay Alive When Your Insides Are Softer Than Water…
These were the top 10 stories published by general journal of infinite musings; you can also dive into yearly archives: 2014, 2015, and 2016.