L. V., I Found This Poem Unmoving Inside The Green Apple You Left In My Fridge

- "Portrait of Adam" by: Giuseppe Arcimboldo, 1578
- words by: L. V.

L. V., i found this poem unmoving inside the green apple you left in my fridge

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L. V., I Found This Poem As I Swept The Confetti Away

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there are approximately 382 kinds of love

L. V., i found this poem bathing in neon lights

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7 months ago

“I see black light.” –Victor Hugo
“…the fog is rising.” –Emily Dickinson
“Now, I shall go to sleep.” –Lord Byron
“Goodnight, my kitten!” –Ernest Hemingway told Mary, his wife, before he, “put the end of the barrel into his mouth, pulled the trigger and blew out his brains.” When the authorities arrived, Mary was sedated and taken to the hospital. It “did not seem to her a conscious lie” when she told the press that his death had been accidental.
“I can’t sleep.” –J. M. Barrie
“…thank God it has come!” –John Keats

—found poetry, in writers’ last words
poem found by: L. V.

a frankenstein poem from writers' last words
edited by L. V.

No one told me good night would be your last words to me. If only I knew. I would have stretched that conversation longer. I wouldn’t have let you close your eyes. I would have pried your mouth open with my teeth until your blood coloured me all over and I would carry you with me everywhere for a lifetime. I will be stained with you for a lifetime. And people will look at me, and they will ask things like, where did all the blood come from? And I wouldn’t know what to say so I’ll just give them a smile or a chuckle, and a shrug. And they will say things like, it doesn’t matter. It brings out the colour in your eyes. And I’ll wonder for a lifetime what they meant by that. - L. V.

I’m drafting my last words
on a brown paper napkin at a café.
But will anyone be there to hear them?
Will you be there
to hold my hand and listen?
- L. V.

L. V., idk how to let you go

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9 months ago

There’s a story
about a stone, flung
into the belly of an ancient
ocean, and to this day, it is falling
still. On the night that you are born,
it is written that the stone strikes the
ocean floor, like a matchstick to the
matchbox. And you wonder why
all you’re ever good at is setting
things on fire—even the ones
who love you to death.
Perhaps people should
not love each other.
At least, not to
death.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem in the backwaters of your subconscious

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1 month ago

L. V., meet me at the epilogue

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8 months ago

Letter (detail) by Federico Zandomeneghi

who is this boy you keep kissing in your poetry?

- L. V.

L. V., things people say

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A New York Blizzard (Detail)
Childe Hassam, 1890

L. V., I Found This Poem Tracing Random Patterns On The Seashore With A Paper-cut Finger

L. V., i found this poem tracing random patterns on the seashore with a paper-cut finger

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11 months ago

Apple Trees in a Meadow (detail)
Edward Mitchell Bannister, 1890

Person 1: If only love bloomed on trees.

Person 2: But we still have apples, don’t we?

L. V., i found this poem as it wrinkled and went black, plopping to the ground at my feet

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