light bulbs

you leave your hair on my pillow

and your smell on my sweater.

we laugh about all the thoughts we share

and how you think i’ll get better,

but this isn’t a fairytale

with crowns and carnations.

still, you dream the same tale.

your mind, the train.

my ocd, the station.

our voices are light bulbs,

busted and shattered.

our hands are the answer.

we just don’t know they matter

– js

 

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Author: i.jacksonsmith

An aspiring young visual artist with an interest in poetry as well.

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