365 Days of Poetry — 111

I feel your words — dry but pleasant — dance about my mind — calm but chaotic, all at the same time. They brush my face — rough — inconsistent and regurgitated. With every close, every sentence’s farewell — abrupt and ill-favored — I feel your words creep into themselves, pulled back and sent to hell — with me, of course. In your mind — frazzled and busy with my death — I hear your love of nothing, no, not even time. And just as I am falling in your dreams, I am falling in life — oozing and just simply alright. Oh, I hear your words.

– Brittany Rose

Authors notes: This poem was originally written for spoken word; maybe sometime I will actually get around to posting it as that — as well as the other one I spoke about a while ago. Whoops. 

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