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a broken strength

heartache only cries
when the heartbreak
isn’t weak enough
to fall into quiet sighs

heart slows

blood runs red hands
across cheeks, making
the skin grow warm
the grip strong, and
heart slow – going weak

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: lust

when the sun doesn’t speak

there are some days
the sun doesn’t wish to
speak to us, so she weakly
covers up, pulls up a cloak
of clouds to block the way
between us, so our gaze
is haunted by a rainy gray
her murmurs muffle, becoming
thunder rustling through
the leaves of the sky

the kings

we frown at ugly things eating
holes into our pretty things
so we kill them all and become
the kings of all ugly things
our bites are worse than
their stings, because we are
the end of the end of their things

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: pest


rulers have the sharpest edges
we are never satisfied – falling
short of tiptoeing along the ledge
of the lines and cliffs we have
sketched for ourselves, bitter
with absence of gratification when
our actions and words are still
out of reach of another person’s
ladder rungs – we are hung up
on skipping stones, counting
numbers upward – leaning
toward the infinite – when,
merely as humans – our only
measures are the breaths
we take in and out within
this very minute


cups hold bodies of tea,
their warmth gripping
the lips of cups, their
heat writhing, slipping
into the air until we
can no longer see it

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: tea

the other side of things

there are somedays the sun
wants to shut my eyes,
close them with warmth
slip into sleep
so that i may see the flowers
of the day wake up
on the other side of dreams