Hush. Let's play pretend.
Dig your claws into my neck.
Mark me, so I can remember what I should forget.
Bathe me in your scent.
Remind me, which part of you I should regret.
Hush. Let's play pretend.
Say it again.
"Stay."
Sawyer S.
-
-
seventeen text messages.
left on read.
you still haven't texted me back.
i nestle my pseudo lover.
i wrap my hands around her neck.
a bottle of Honey Jack.
something, anything to shade
this gray into black.
i've always been chasing
that which you lack.
i wonder who you're with,
and where you are.
these privileged thoughts
are for the naive.
i chew five xanax
for my nightly reprieve.
i hear five knocks at my door.
"sawyer, it's me!"
the onset of vertigo.
my feet betray reason
as i walk to the front door.
both hands press
against the wooden door.
"you can't keep doing this to me"
my words slur in my pathetic state.
"let me in already, i want you right now"
and just as a puppet dances with string,
i unlock my door and invite you inside.
you're wearing a black,
faded denim miniskirt.
torn fishnets.
you reek of liquor
and cheap cigarettes.
"have you been using again, sawyer?"
"you already know the answer. why are you here?"
"you're my boyfriend, duh!"
"love isn't supposed to feel like this."
"what is love supposed to feel like then?"
"i feel like i'm dying"
"baby, why don't we die together then?"
remember when we would get high,
just to have fun?Sawyer S.
-
Why, am I so cold? I visit a headstone of a man I used to know, a faint realization of fragmented ego. I am so cold. I drop a bouquet of cheap roses onto filthy soil. Collapse. My fists pound the petals to make them bleed. Violence and pain comfort the parts of myself isolated to shame. Why, am I so cold?
Sawyer S.
-
Marlboro mistress cigarettes, torn fishnets empty ecstasy
Sawyer S.
-
It is an extraordinary privilege to announce that my poem, titled “Siren Song For Bottled Blues“, has been published on February 16, 2022 at Spillwords Press! I would like to extend my gratitude to Dagmara K. and the editorial staff at Spillwords for their support and coordination in publishing this piece.
Please visit the following link to read “Siren Song For Bottled Blues” by Sawyer Stewart: https://spillwords.com/siren-song-for-bottled-blues/
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It's how a finger tremors on the trigger;
I try to forget,
but I'll always remember.
Spellbound in Spring,
April became less of a curse.
A reverie of my first love:
roaming through foxgloves,
your olive skin shimmers
under the northwest sunlight.
Do you not feel
this dark dichotomy?
You were terrified by tomorrow
while I buried skeletons
of a petrified past.
You told me
to slow down
and breathe,
but you couldn't perceive
the ghosts in my periphery.
Twelve promises
sowed what we could
never reap,
two strangers shivered
in the same bed
we used to sleep.Sawyer S.
-
As the smoke settled,
I could see fire;
crimson blazed in her irises.
I was but ember and ash
flashbacks of that same shade
twirling in my fingertips
as if I could see fallen spirits.Sawyer S.
-
It's a fable now, of a forgotten town. Whispering goodbye to every belligerent blue that must have wasted you. Two was too many yet twenty was already plenty. When had we subscribed to the idea that love was a construct only to be destroyed by the vices we employed? I feel like a child, innocent and praying to God in a church pew as if He could stop and rewind to that one time our fingers intertwined and I felt truly fine. It's all a fable now, of a forgotten town.
Sawyer S.
Addict Brain Poetry by Sawyer 