bonnie & clyde
have nothing on us.
me, a cannonball, firing 120 mph
towards the storm of your heart,
desecrating cities as a consequence.
(tell me, dear, don’t you love a sad story?)
you, a kaleidoscope tsunami overtaking
towers of history built on holy ground.
together, we are nothing more than
exhaustion embodied, deflated lungs
heaving nostalgia into double-edged swords
& bruised lips murmuring hushed prayers,
anxious for forgiveness or redemptions
we never blessed upon each other.
on stormy nights, commitment transforms
into damnation―I dissect my heart
with the scalpels of my melancholy
while you drown out apologies
with your whiskey-flavored affairs;
sacrificing other borrowed hearts
to false hope becomes our masquerade.
love is ill-tempered, bathed in the holy sun
& rivaling Icarus’s plight, isn’t it?
devoted to becoming martyrs,
each heartbeat is a waltz to mortal peril.
our legacy: the past, eradicated, & the future,
undiscovered, will make writers ache with abandoned truth.
history will silence the crimes we committed against each other.
history will be a gravely cradle for our hearts.
(life may be law, but love makes fugitives of us all.)
Kaitlin Smith is a young writer living just outside of Cleveland, Ohio. Though she is pursuing a degree in English, words have a funny way of abandoning her at the worst times. Her other interests include photography, debating theoretical multiverse scenarios, and pestering her siblings with story ideas. She can be found on Twitter (@mskaitlinwrites). Her cat is her biggest fan.