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Thursday, November 23, 2017

Destruction

by Deanna Meiresonne (writer), Chicago, IL, January 09, 2010

Another morning after, sometimes it's not always clear, are we sad or relieved?

my torn down columns
do not begin with a
dying
ember.
it's my head on a chest
it's mornings,
headaches,
because he goes on about
snowboarding and I
without my coffee.
To him, I'm perhaps dull.
Loose,
without rhythm.

Books
write of it
wild dirty but we are good.
The death of us
done beautifully,
and like art,
depression breathes newness
into
frail
lungs.

He passed out,
the couch. I let the TV
run on,
like crawling colored strobes
like smeared fingerpaints
across my
hot
cheeks
I'm a perfect angel.
sadness,
watching morning
spread it's legs wide open
for his living room,
when I'll be pushed out
dropped off
done beautifully.



About the Writer

Deanna Meiresonne is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
Want to write articles too? Sign up & become a writer!

3 comments on Destruction

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By JJFCPA on January 09, 2010 at 05:44 pm

Well done. An interesting perspective.

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By Glenn T on January 10, 2010 at 12:14 am

Striking as always... beautifully broken.

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By Deanna Meiresonne on January 10, 2010 at 10:45 pm

awww! you guys .....

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