Prose Poetry: Boneyard

And there was a roller coaster. A piece of glass. A long, breathless run. I broke my hands and now they’re useless. I broke the birds and now they won’t fly. I broke everything. I broke everything. If there was any way to explain this, if there was any way to make the words form on my lips, I would tell you. But there isn’t, she says hopelessly. There never was. I am sitting on a no name grave sipping absinthe and hallucinating ghosts. You were supposed to be here. I came alone. I brought the licorice courage with me and I drank it by myself. I am drinking it by myself. The ghosts flicker in the darkness. Red eyes watch me.

And there was a whirlwind. A ray of sun. A match. I broke my legs and now they’re useless. I broke the cage and set everything free. I broke everything. I broke everything. I’m disruptive, and fickle, and I hurt people. Have no illusions about that. I will cause you pain. So. And if you could only see your face right now. I fooled you, didn’t I? I made you think that I could be there for you. Made you think I wasn’t afraid. But my heart is palpitating so fast that the beating will likely just arrest and I’ll keel over, dead and cold as stone.

And there was a beating heart. And a feather light touch. And a long, unending silence. I broke your hands and now they’re useless. I broke your wings and now you won’t fly. I broke everything. I broke everything.

The boneyard is dark.

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Comments
6 Responses to “Prose Poetry: Boneyard”
  1. Adam says:

    That’s a dark one Hannah. You’re full of dolorous melancholy lately.

  2. Dave says:

    Hannah – yeah, it may be dark, but I liked the mood of the piece. I suppose it helps that I’m a bit melancholic myself and tend to read/write dark fiction. Loved this line:

    “I am sitting on a no name grave sipping absinthe and hallucinating ghosts.”

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