[Fiction] Love Letters to Myself, Part Two

Disclaimer: largely sarcastic notes on free style haiku.

~

There was a tree, I walked to it and sat

Alone under a big blue dome, surrounded by green

A cloud shaped like a lion glared down

Dying leaves drip off of the trees like rain

Half of the sky is burnt orange, the other is the ocean

An apple fell from the tree, a cat ran and bit into it

A white rose means innocence

Silhouettes from the trees darkened the flowers

The shadows moved like the hand of a clock, the longer I sat

The sky is now grey, sad

The rain sounds like a bowl of marbles rolling across the floor

Lightening strikes, hairs stands up on my arms

I can hear the low growling of the wolf’s stomach from inside

My eyelashes feel heavier with tears

Fog rolls down the mountains edge, I catch some of it in my hands

The wind picks up my hair to examine it

The moon was still there when I woke up

The walls are painted red, makes my head ache

The window frames the fallen snow

Six empty chairs, never been sat on

Blood no longer disturbs my sleep

A snake that looks like the leaves, it hisses, I can not see it

The two small kittens of the cat wondered away

A little girl I recognized ran home, she had been crying

The sheets are shaped like mountains, peaking and falling

Wheat fields sound more like the ocean than waves

The window was left open, the sun poked in when I woke, greeted me first

 

He scowled at the newspaper, nothing bad to report

Steam lifted up from the mug, smelling of camomile and hibiscus

The egg shells sat at the bottom of the sink empty, but I had my breakfast thrown over rice

The wood on the porch drew on my skin, I stood up

Clouds came back over the house in disguise

The sensation of someone brushing my hair

I watch him blow on the fire, it sparks

Each snowflake unique, my boots crush each the same

The heater sounded like a croaking frog, I shut the door

Cold air let itself in through the window, I showed it the way out

 

Pain in my stomach interrupted my writing

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Indigo is a writer living out of Seattle. She plays a lot of video games.

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