Treasure Island

Aria Siren


october did the best it could.


I have a bad habit of resusitation
Trying to catch flickering light in my hands
Pasting leaves back to branches
Kissing dead faces with a box of crayons

October did the best it could
But you are slipping away on this hospital bed
Saw through ribs and hand over my heart
If it meant keeping your fading leaves red

I bite through a season's wrinkled skin
Trying to break open the veins beneath
Leftover words dribble down my chin
And your inky bloodstream stains my teeth

Lungs struggle to filter the bad from good
I am burried in the mulch of your madness
Tonight I will dream on your mossy grave
Tonight I will let myself feel sadness

Submitted: Tuesday, April 09, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 09, 2013

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Comments about this poem (october did the best it could. by Aria Siren )

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  • Thomas A Robinson (4/9/2013 6:22:00 PM)

    March and October are two of the best months to die.Both are the beginning and end of time in the years
    seasons of reason. The birth and death of every year takes place then.
    October always does it's best work then. Beginning with warm days and such pleasant nights advancing into
    crisp autumn days of golden sunlight and snuggling fireside chats.
    But leaves fall each day takes away as life illudes us into thinking we will have more time.
    LEFT OVER WORDS DRIBBLE DOWN MY CHIN
    AND YOUR INKY BLOODSTREAM STAINS MY TEETH
    A vampirous poet takes down another muse and savages
    the remains of dreams and forgotten promises.
    TONIGHT I WILL DREAM ON YOUR MOSSY GRAVE
    TONIGHT I WILL LET MYSELF FEELS SADNESS
    I think October has done itself well (Report) Reply

Read all 4 comments »

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