croisilles

[croisilles]

something about reflections

#writing #poetry #thoughts on a saturday afternoon

[croisilles]

in images

#writing #poem #poetry #mine #words

[croisilles]

your best friend has been obsessed with death since his little brother died, and you think it's morbid as all hell, but it helps him sleep at night, so you leave it alone.

that doesn't stop it from feeling like you've stepped through a time machine every time you go to his place, though. you tell him that he should probably move his brother's shoes away from the door, at least, but then all he does is start wearing them, and that's not what you meant (you didn't even know they were the same size) but you don't say anything about it 'cause, even if it sort of seems like he's trying death on for size, it's not like it's your little brother who died.

your best friend—the one who has been obsessed with death since his little brother died—starts to look like death, too. he wears his brother's old coat and bags under his eyes, winces at the light when you draw open the curtains of his apartment and say, hey, what do you say we go out tonight?

he doesn't want to go anywhere, and you don't think it's good for him, haunting his apartment like he's the one six feet in the ground, but it's not like it's your little brother who died, so you say, yeah, we can stay in, and you find an old frozen pizza somewhere in the back of the freezer for the two of you to eat, and he whimpers between bites, probably 'cause his brother bought it a year ago and it's been in there since and he feels both miserable and pathetic, but you don't say anything 'cause really, you're just glad he's eating something.

your best friend—the one who dresses like his dead little brother and starts to get really grim after just one drink— tells you one night over beers that he can see ghosts and they talk to him.

ghosts aren't real, but you don't tell him that because honestly, it seems like that's all he has left, especially in moments like these where his tired eyes drift down, his gaze on someone else's shoes, shoulders slumped into a coat that's barely his, and the fingers of one hand curling around a bottle, the others holding a cigarette that's been burning for ages, but that he's only breathed in once. you don't know what to say, because it's not like it's your little brother who died, but you can't help but feel like you've lost someone, too.

so, yeah? you ask him when he says that he's been talking to ghosts, and he perks up a little at it. it's the closest you've felt to him in ages. me too.

#beautiful #other words

[croisilles]

something more experimental - thoughts about parenthood and the guilt of birth/existence ?

#mine #poetry #poem #writing #words

[croisilles]

we find it and we love it again

#spring #poem #poetry #mine #words

[croisilles]

thoughts on womanhood

#writing

[croisilles]

blame

#writing #poetry #poem #not really poetry #just thoughts about a friend that used to be

[croisilles]

#writing #poetry #poem #remember.x #want.2

[croisilles]

Lately I’ve found myself touching things just to prove I’m real:

The side of my face,

The velvet fur on the back of my cat’s leg,

The cool table surface,

wind,

sky,

breath.

Or have I?

Or am I trying to make the world into something it isn’t,

Tangible and reachable.

So fleeting and flying from me, goes this

ravaged sensation I seek.

#writing #poetry #i guessss