Bleeding Heart E-Book

Sara Ruth

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

This collection of poems defines emotion in a way that makes you feel connected, understood, and vulnerable. It will pull at your heart strings and then lift you back up. Modern life is nothing short of chaotic and confusing.  Dive into one woman's expression of love, loss, despair, and freedom to be oneself.

Leseprobe

Sara Ruth

Bleeding Heart

For my soulmate.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Bled Dry

I’ve not tasted poison sweeter,Than his name upon my lips,My eyes, they know a secret,That when I sleep I dream of his.

From tongue to fingertips,My control is but consumed,If arsenic was his love,I’d have drank the bottle through.

My mind, it screams in madness,As my heart yells out in pain,This pull toward him collapses,My every artery and vein.

For just one thought to have him,Splits me clean through at the seams,My ribs cracked open, heart exposed,Parts he was never meant to see.

Sick

Black paint fills the corner,Of a small forgotten room,Scattered, shattered glass around,

To ensure not many will pass through.

No wind to sway the curtains,Of the windows, busted out,A musty stench sweeps over,Like an old, abandoned house.

The once fresh hardwood floors,Now creak with age and use,Stained with cold neglect,An irrevocable, stolen youth.

Concealed beneath a worn, silk sheet,A record player hums,Spinning, skipping, static noise,The music now unsung.

This is but a single space,In an expansive, mansion still,Each room a story, dark and light,Some you’ve not seen and never will.

Tonight I lay among the dust,Of my record room, confined,Comfort in the peeling paint,In this corner of my mind.

Heart Thoughts

“Love,” is just a word,Little meaning lies beneath,But an “L,” said with the tongue,And a “V,” said with the teeth.

Instead, say that she’s a painting,Full of colors, still unknown,Draped softly on your skin,In your heart and through your bones.

Say that she’s a cloud,Close to touch, and yet, so far,Her mind is bathed in etchings,From nights dreaming with the stars.

She’s the moon across a black sky,Small but shone so bright,Her reflection cast, but lightly,With admiration, in your eyes.

She’s a snowflake in the winter,Not another is alike,And a dark field in the summer,Lit up by fireflies.

She’s the eye inside the storm,All around you is laid waste,Only she can still the currents,That you, yourself, have made.