Molten Ruins

Caution tape covers you like you are the enemy during an apocalypse.
Stay away; I will not hold back.
The raging fire of your heart swells into a volcano;
Gripping, grabbing, I am your eruption.
Contagious, your love left me in ruins.
With rugged rock you stabbed me,
liquid seeping from my heart like the molten remains of the natural disaster you are.
As you reign as queen atop your mountain of passion
My lava slips into your soul, your elevated peak,
into the visible cracks of our love—
Are you no longer in control?
I am the eruption of your gold,
The orange-red prize that your insides hold.
I will hurt you like you hurt me;
Give me your rugged rock and let your lava free.

Tale of the Typewriter

There is an old typewriter that sits on a shelf next to dusty books and burnt candles.
Untouched for years, harsh feelings linger of the sticky, temperamental ink tape.
Watching arms bend as each letter transfers from ink to paper
Its keys are like fingerprints matching to mine and I listen—
I hear the click and zip sounds as my words write themselves
Bringing me back to grandmother's house during earlier times
As I sat writing, typing, staying awake for days
Finishing a story: The Fairy in the Flower,
Celebrating a birthday and independence of childhood
Much unlike the agedness of these tacky keys.
Light green and yellowed, the stories it has created,
All the fingers it has felt and the tears that have fallen on the letters.
If the typewriter could speak, the tales it could tell...
Just like the time I sat typing in a chair making up fairy spells.