eighth prompt: a love poem. this one turned kind of dark. it’s from the perspective of an outsider to love – someone who is trying to make sense of another’s toxic relationship but can’t fully understand because they’re not within it.
hand swinging from the rope of an arm
it’s a kind of death this is
this love is.
smiling into the darkness
the tip of a candle casting
light across the white of an eye
that knows what it’s like to die
love that swims in the potion that I
can’t seem to fathom.
it’s too far for me to understand
but I see what that rope is
doing to your hand
and you can’t stop it
no you can’t stop it
no you can’t