pyres & pills, hell & his hands

pictures by my mom

you are standing in a curbside graveyard on a foggy morning
it is ten days before christmas
you have never been so cold in your life
so that cold that you can feel the frost creeping over your fragile bones
you forgot your gloves so your knuckles are stained
the same pale, icy blue as the winter sky

rain from the heavens that mourns your innocence drips onto your cheeks
a murmured prayer of thanks to whichever ghosts or angels
are listening for disguising your sorrow from your best friend
she meanders through the rows of worn marble graves beside you
her fingers brush the wet headstones
as you walk through the downpour
she whispers the name of the departed as you go
when you ask why, she tells you
that people die twice
once when their heart stops beating
and again when their name is spoken for the last time

you can’t say that you agree
you feel as though you died that night one month ago
amidst the frigid mountains and fresh snow
yes, your haunted heart still forces blood through your veins
but have you truly felt alive since?
paranoia has made a home in your aching head
glancing over your shoulder and searching crowds
for that dimpled face that stalks you
in the nightmares that are more like memories
have become second nature
oh, how fear makes prey of us all

you imagine that you can feel his hands
under your rain jacket, and shiver
at your best friend’s imploring look, you say
i thought i felt a ghost, on my skin
and then, as you tremble once more like a tattered white flag in a storm
i think i’m getting hypothermia

the two of you leave the dead, but the past follows you home
i never felt safe with you


i’m over it, i’m over it, i’m over it, i’m over it.

xo apollo

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Author: apollo

i'm apollo, a poet & hot mess.

10 thoughts on “pyres & pills, hell & his hands”

  1. goodness, this is haunting. it’s still beautiful, though, as if your poetry was an apparition, but a beautiful one; one with curled hair and pronounced features and beautiful blue eyes, one that despite her pretty looks seldom talks and has visible scars. your writing is so powerful and emotional, and that’s what captures me about not just your poetry but poetry in general: how it motivates one feeling little emotion, and grabs onto that spark of tiny feeling, and creates a work of art out of it.
    honestly, i can’t believe your saying you’re merely a teenager: you write with more than the power and vocabulary and meaning of a well-developed adult.
    i’m in shock. you are such an inspiring writer. keep doing what you do, because it’s beautiful.
    – xx em <3

    Like

  2. holy cow what a poem

    you’re over it, girl, you’re strong, you’re good, you got this.

    favorite line is
    “people die twice
    once when their heart stops beating
    and again when their name is spoken for the last time”

    <3 xx {tess}

    Like

  3. I don’t know what inspired this poem, since I live somewhere far away from you. I’m not sure what you’re trying to be over. But I’m here if you ever need to talk, and if something is bothering you. You’re amazing; remember that 😊

    Like

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