Charlotte Renaud

Arts & Culture Editor

There are weeds in my arteries

And under my eyes, cemeteries

I am tired of being proven right

Beauty is never what it implies

Close my eyes 

Show me something honest 

Show me 

It is possible for distance

To be reduced 

To our touching skin 

But I remember everything like a song out of tune

We are two dissonant sounds

How did you speak so loudly

Without saying anything?

You throw liquor on the open wounds inside you

A suicide by drowning 

I’m waiting for you to bring me back to shore

But your body’s on the Pacific floor