Seven Signs of Bipolar Depression:
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
THE GRENADE
By Shinji Moon
I.
Kill me by giving me a grenade
and telling me it’s your heart.
I don’t want to know what your favorite color is
but I do want to know what color you bleed
when you’re with me.
I had a dream that I painted my body blue
and melted into the ocean
that you swam through.
I woke up crying,
tasted salt, and thought
this is what it must feel like
to be the sea.
II.
I mean,
what else can this heart do but break or fall in love?
There’s a grenade rocking back and forth in my chest
and I’m holding the pin between my teeth like an apricot pit.
My palms are mines, and you’re just a finger’s length away
from leaving me splattered across your chest, and you yelling “Cover!”
and pulling the sheets over our head
won’t do anything but make me hold onto you
as if you are the only thing
standing between me
and a bullet.
I.
Kill me by giving me a grenade
and telling me it’s your heart.
I don’t want to know what your favorite color is
but I do want to know what color you bleed
when you’re with me.
I had a dream that I painted my body blue
and melted into the ocean
that you swam through.
I woke up crying,
tasted salt, and thought
this is what it must feel like
to be the sea.
II.
I mean,
what else can this heart do but break or fall in love?
There’s a grenade rocking back and forth in my chest
and I’m holding the pin between my teeth like an apricot pit.
My palms are mines, and you’re just a finger’s length away
from leaving me splattered across your chest, and you yelling “Cover!”
and pulling the sheets over our head
won’t do anything but make me hold onto you
as if you are the only thing
standing between me
and a bullet.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
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