telephones probably hate hearing
us drone on and on, filling
their heads with drama and
trivialities – which is why we
are sometimes greeted with
unfriendly dial tones, phones too busy,
lacking desire to hear about
our realities

a sad word

treat us gently, the words said
we sometimes treat them unkindly in our heads
slap them around in our mouths,
rolling out, falling down all wrong,
instead, tread lightly – the words said
so their significance won’t wane
or be misread, or left in the cold
unheard and dead, and they won’t be
the ones left to blame

pink eyelids

to press my face into the sky
wind wrapping warm arms around
my waist, the sun turning my
vision pink when i close my eyelids
to let my daydreams arise
reality softly sinks into the riverside

head, heart abyss

write with lips what
can’t be said with
fingertips. the heart
grows dead if you
throw her hopes too
far into your head

wishing wells

wishing wells are wet on their insides
coins crack their bodies against rocks
slipping into the water to hide the
bottled up tears and wistful stares, absent
heartbeats, and broken cares
of strangers from the outside, tossing things in
stones and water, broken, haunted by
thoughts, greed, and helplessness from
people trying to reach the end or beginning
of things, only to bring themselves to the edge
of the cold, holding nothing in their hands
but wishing for everything to stand again
without sinking low, into the bottom of
wishing wells, where all the beautiful yet
ugly things go

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: thorny

dialogue with red

you make my heart
sound louder than ever before,
all the beats crowding at the
door, wanting to climb out
the pressure rises, painting
my face red, my limbs numb
time and time again,
i forget half the words i speak
how can this strength bleed
out so weakly – i struggle to
understand the way love speaks

burning lives

we fool ourselves all of the time
thinking the world is ours
and when that fateful hour arrives
the world will show us how many lives
she still has, she burns through more of them
than cats reincarnated nine times over
tell her to sit down, watch her walk out the door
she’ll take us back to where she begun
back when she was alone, erasing
everything we’ve done

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: disobey

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