if i had a heart

he ripped into my dreams again last night.  my long lost friend.

he’s the familiar shadow of a silver-tongued deceiver prowling on the wine wall, amnesia like sequins beading from the rusty valley of his pores, wet grass, filthy winter rain for eyes & i wrangle it all in my mouth like a siren capturing sea-gems on her tongue-bed, held like a bullet caught between teeth. a chthonic jeweler fashioning a ring from heartsick-heavy brows overburdened, incurably lone, melted down to the joint, onto the bone. but he’s just an old year’s specter. a christmas carol. the hot graveyard dust my breath makes in the cold. like always, never truly him. my pulseless chest is sore from pressing against empty air.

i don’t remember what his kurt cobain, dirty-blonde lips tasted like, except for when they tasted like me. i tore apart a red rose and walked to the corner of your street. burned secret words. littered the ashes & petals on the concrete. maybe i ripped you apart, too. i begged gods of love to tell me like so: if you love me come back, if you don’t i will know, i will know. & i knew.

i whisper in a jar, a hole in a tree

i love you & you’ll never know

the words are trapped there waiting

like the ocean’s song

twirling its hair inside of a shell

already spit out

but still saying its name

over & over.


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

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22 comments

  1. Mad skills.

  2. This is immensely lonely longing and darkly lovely

    1. Thanks as always! I surprisingly had time to think last night. Probably won’t happen again forever.

      1. Let’s hope you do!

  3. Beautiful baby💞

  4. Fantastically written, I happened to come across your work at suddendenouement and am glad a I did.

    1. i’m glad you did, too!

  5. Reblogged this on RamJet Poetry.

  6. Absolutely lovely sentiments, and I like how you decided to write it like stream of consciousness, then break it into a tradition layout. Wonderful tone. Sad sentiment of someone who was what he was and was no longer.

    1. thank you so much. i’ve learned lately to just break format if it feels right, that’s for sure. i’ve dropped the perfectionism and i’m so glad i did. thank you for the comment. ❤

      1. Awesome and you’re welcome!

  7. This is still one of my favourites of yours, I really like the opening format breaking into free verse for the second part.

  8. Reblogged this on Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and commented:
    Mad writing from Sam Lucero

  9. Breanna N Ransome · · Reply

    This really resonated with me. The imagery was so abstractly accurate. I especially enjoyed the alliteration you employed; for example, the “-ess” sound in “pulseless,” “chest,” “press,” and even faintly in “against” at the end of the first paragraph.

    1. Thank you so much for the compliment. 🖤 I love to hear about when what I write touches someone, even if a little.

    2. I’m trying to stalk you. Where’s your blog? This mobile site keeps telling me you’re deleted. 😩

      1. Breanna N Ransome · ·

        Visit breannanransome.wordpress.com (don’t forget the “n” in the middle there it can be hard to see. I’m having a hard time updating my Gravatar to have my blog info attached!

      2. way ahead of you. totally stalked already and added you. i like your work.

      3. Breanna N Ransome · ·

        Thank you! I appreciate that so much. I’m relatively new to the WordPress community and have been tweaking the way I present it and how I pick and choose which work to actually publish, so any feedback is really helpful (plus I’ve been dying for someone to read some of it for awhile now. As a writer my most feared fate is never truly being heard. I’m sure many writers share that feeling.) I like your work also, I’ve read a lot of it today. I sense a common theme amongst it all which I think works so well and has really contributed to you establishing a particular voice/persona. And thank you for adding me! Your input is always welcome.

      4. Well, you’ll have my support from now on. Tomorrow I’ll read even more of your work. I know what you mean by not being heard, and in a way my writing has been aimed toward myself. Maybe I’m trying to hear the real me, buried underneath the rubble of whatever I’ve had to become.

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