Cancelling out the day

And once again, writing poetry is the only thing I get accomplished in Poetry class. Sounds appropriate, but it's really not, especially when the focus of the class is scansion.



Out of doors, framed by your rusted teal car,
flickering lights like fireflies fall,
zipping past, bright colors fly and waste away,
Beneath, the pavement blurs and cancels out the day.



I clung to your bed sheets
Sinking claws into claws,
Filling voids with piercing words.
Tacky white glue
always dries on permanent.
Forgotten paper hearts
always tear so well.