Poetry

Murdered Muse

by

Heather Cunningham

It hurts to look at you,
My murdered muse,
My love

Light my cigarette.

The smoke in your eyes,
what a clever disguise.
Strangled by words
and the loveliest sigh.
Childhood ends too soon.
Now look at you.
My murdered muse
My love, light my cigarette before you go.

Wasting Time

by

Heather Cunningham

Spending time reading words I wish were mine.
In hipster bars
In hipster clothes
We are all aspiring young nothings.
In our minds, eternal
I will no longer lightly toss fractions of thoughts.
Instead, I will hurl my words with force.
I am the storm.
I live it.
I breathe it.
I am certainly dying for it.