Goodbye to the moon
Don't you ever get tired of watching
these hollow ruins that you tore me down into?
Empty shades of black and blue are flowing across the starless sky
like invisible clouds.
They wash away all the pain,
taking me with it.
All these broken pieces of ice sticking in my feet
perfectly match the color of your eyes.
They're mocking me,
screaming to me all the pain that I can't feel anymore.
I'm nailed onto the ground,
unable to move.
What is it with you
that your skin always seems to stick onto mine,
even when you're already gone,
like an old snake's peel
that I can't flay,
even after a thousand years
of cutting it apart.
Goodbye to the moon
Don't you ever get tired of watching
these hollow ruins that you tore me down into?
Empty shades of black and blue are flowing across the starless sky
like invisible clouds.
They wash away all the pain,
taking me with it.
All these broken pieces of ice sticking in my feet
perfectly match the color of your eyes.
They're mocking me,
screaming to me all the pain that I can't feel anymore.
I'm nailed onto the ground,
unable to move.
What is it with you
that your skin always seems to stick onto mine,
even when you're already gone,
like an old snake's peel
that I can't flay,
even after a thousand years
of cutting it apart.
Son of a Cannon Ball by iamjameswalters, literature
Literature
Son of a Cannon Ball
I’m just the son of a cannon ball, hard and heavy,
blacker than any snow white dove. Cold to the touch,
my blunt metallic skin siphons heat away through your fingertips,
leaving your hands cold and clammy, but that’s not important
because you probably only touch me with gloves on anyway.
And I know I’m dull to look at, but if you take me out under the sun
and look hard enough, you’ll see a glimmer of sunshine in my eyes.
I was born in a furnace, in the middle of heat and flame, hammers
and all the hard and heavy things in life, pounding my brothers
on the anvils and pouring out my sisters into molds,
each of them thei