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3 a.m. thoughts
September 24, 2015
I CAN FEEL THE IMAGES
I CAN SEE THEM
LIFELESS BODIES BEING RIPPED APART
SEPARATING THE FIBERS OF MY BEING
SHREDDING MUSCLES IN MY HEART
I CAN SEE IT ALL
BUT MY TONGUE IS STONE
AND MY HANDS ARE NUMB
...but you don’t love me anyways.
you make her hands feel,
because they feel yours.
you make her tongue sand,
because she knows you’d travel across thousands of deserts to be with her.
you stitch the muscles back together,
weld the fibers,
sew her body shut.
i don’t know what to do,
or what to say.
because now that you’re gone again,
i have a statue for a tongue,
and i’m not sure where my hands have gone.
© Courtney R., Great Falls, VA
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It may not make sense, but this is what writer's block is. This is the words that describe the messed up mind of a heartbroken poet who cannot do what she loves; write.