Author

Kristin Thorpe

Browsing

The Forest As the night grew colder her shivers began to shake far more than solely her. With her heart in her hand, her hair in a tie, she set foot on this path of adventure where she knew she would die. An eternal rest that forgave her sins just darkened the even darker spot she held within. Someone cherishable, someone kind who had loved her in a past life would find her here. They…

No Reality Dancing forever, Through kitchens and in flowers, Her laugh melodic. Her smile plastered On her windswept rosy cheeks, Love shone from outside. The joy on her lips She left in my memory. I will not forget. When she was shattered, I wept for her unbeknownst. My own reflection. She looks back at me. Can this be real? Is she here?  When did she lose it. No reality…

The sun is an enemy and a friend today to dimpled cheeks, stained with freckles. The carefree spirit becomes a crusade, searching for some kind of imperfection. It will not be found that in the way, while others search for our world’s fallacy.  But it’s true that nothing can be crocheted from the tangled mess we create absently. It is best to pledge allegiance to the arbitrary. Gazing at tiny bees as the…

they laugh, beam, play, bloom under the setting sun. oh, such a close to a day lost to  romping through the meadow and forest green, bursting with merry life like them. i do relive that dream again, much joy, i see their eyes piercing yet warmer than fire, hair soft like flowers pressed in spring by thee,  when i was the only thing they desire, and our arms wrapped ‘round each other tight. to see…

the amiable lilac bush Stumbling out of the forest, I came upon a meadow With the sun shining above and the grass green below. In the middle of this fresh, flowery field stood a lilac bush: Purple, tall, and proud. I set down my blanket before it and pull out my picnic basket. Half for me, half for the lilac bush, both wrapped in gingham: Pastries and little sandwiches, fizzy drinks and chocolates.…

my bed has molded perfectly to the shape of my spine it seems to be the only thing in life that i can consistently call mine stare at the bare ceiling until your eyes run dry watch the nothingness and let time pass you by waking up everyday simply to sit “content” it seems like the universe is simply hellbent on taking anything good and enjoyable away discord notifications as the only reminder…

Everything is realer when life is falling from the sky  Coming down so hard  Yet, slipping down my skin so softly Tickling my pores then disappearing  Flashes of light catch the corner of my eye Lighting “Wake up!” it says  You are alive Trees are a vibrant green Grass is swaying under streams All greener than before Finally alive

broader, stronger than my mother’s hard to sleep on, never cried on I slouch because if I don’t, these shoulders might tear through her silk like great black wings, the birth of an imposter the devil in the shape of a lark

Fallen knees she sits before the image of her mother, her bright blue robe, gentle eyes, they never seem to stop calming her aching heart. Day after day she tells the world she no longer believes but holding onto her mother’s finger she hopes her touch will save her from this fallen and broken world. She asks why she believes no more, where her faith has gone. Except no answer is ever given, yet the…