deepundergroundpoetry.com
Broken
There is a hole inside of the house where you should be, and everyone notices it.
There is coffee in the kitchen that will never again be drank, and your plants are all long dead and gone.
When you left me a hole opened inside of my lungs in lieu of your absence, and no matter how hard I try; it will not close.
The house beckons for you, the house still smells of your dolce and gabbana perfume and she waits for you each day, a mad woman never to return to pick up the pieces of the family she helped break.
I think of you a lot at night, and how I am so used to kissing you goodnight.
And now, there is no one who lies in place of you, no more late midnight runs to the gas station for your favorite sunflower seeds or your special chips that only you and I liked.
The house is not the only one who calls for you now, it is me too momma.
I miss 10 am morning reruns of the golden girls, and surprise visits to Mcdonald's for dollar menu breakfast and sugary frappuccinos.
I miss my mom.
And now, I am a broken record on repeat, a mad woman hoping for rain in a never ending desert that will only ever bring pain.
As if I wasn't going to die a cursed man anyways
There is coffee in the kitchen that will never again be drank, and your plants are all long dead and gone.
When you left me a hole opened inside of my lungs in lieu of your absence, and no matter how hard I try; it will not close.
The house beckons for you, the house still smells of your dolce and gabbana perfume and she waits for you each day, a mad woman never to return to pick up the pieces of the family she helped break.
I think of you a lot at night, and how I am so used to kissing you goodnight.
And now, there is no one who lies in place of you, no more late midnight runs to the gas station for your favorite sunflower seeds or your special chips that only you and I liked.
The house is not the only one who calls for you now, it is me too momma.
I miss 10 am morning reruns of the golden girls, and surprise visits to Mcdonald's for dollar menu breakfast and sugary frappuccinos.
I miss my mom.
And now, I am a broken record on repeat, a mad woman hoping for rain in a never ending desert that will only ever bring pain.
As if I wasn't going to die a cursed man anyways
Published 14th Sep 2021
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 2
reading list entries 1
comments 0
reads 352
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
