Lizzy Burnam 🐞

A child doesn’t either. 
Listen, 
don’t you have sweeter elixirs 
than this to drown 
me with? I’m tired of liquor 
licking for me,
of drugs dragging my brain 
from Sunday to Sunday
knocking 
my skull against the ceiling 
like a bag of helium. 
Aren’t you curious to know 
what waits for you 
at the bottom of that hill 
before you die on it?
This Olympian love just fills 
and bursts like a blister, 
leaving pockmarks in the skin. 
What a sad cycle 
to find yourself in—a slow death 
on smoke and mirrors, 
a high horse and a long fall. 
Every writer knows: 
Too many words say nothing 
at all. So why 
don’t you 
close 
your mouth 
and kiss 
me with it
instead? 
Earth can keep the promises 
that heaven never will, 
if you to learn to look for more
before you’re dead.