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A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

Emily Kurc

In a dream like haze, the moment you left still spins on repeat like a broken record.
EMILY KURC

Break Dreams Moments Repeat
I hope you think of me during every thunderstorm.
EMILY KURC

Hope Myself Storm Thinking
You don’t deserve my poetry. I hate that I give you that satisfaction still.
EMILY KURC

Deserve Myself Poetry Satisfaction
Your name still tastes like poison in my mouth.
EMILY KURC

Myself Name Poison Taste
Soft and sweet and wrapped around your fingertips.
EMILY KURC

Fingers Love Relationship Soft Sweet
I have so much love to give even with these daggers still stuck in my heart.
EMILY KURC

Heart Heart Broken Love Myself
I am still weighed down by unspeakable heaviness- It follows like shadow currents.
EMILY KURC

Current heavy Myself Shadow
I thought time would heal my broken heart, but its been forever since I fell in love and I’m scared that you took pieces of me that can’t be replaced.
EMILY KURC

Broken Heart Healing Myself Pieces Replacement Scare Thinking Time
Each night I sit at my windowsill like a wolf howling to the moon, hoping that somewhere you feel me calling to you.
EMILY KURC

Call Feeling Myself Night Wolf Yourself
Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.
EMILY KURC

Blossom Healing Heart Page Word Yourself
I laugh and I cry and I reason on until the late night, but I never feel the urge to call you. The person that I once knew is forever frozen in time.
EMILY KURC

Cry Laughter Myself Night Reason Time
Be here with me tonight, and lets sing the saddest moon song there ever was.
EMILY KURC

Moon Night Sad Sing Togetherness
Do ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
EMILY KURC

Feeling Flame Forget Ghost Haunt Old Philosophy
Even the places we used to visit in this empty town feel lyrical. My heart can’t help but sing along even now, but I’m tired.
EMILY KURC

Empty Feeling Help Myself Place Tired Visit
I know I write too many love poems, and perhaps this is me admitting that the love inside me is still there somewhere, stagnant – but its a cruel addiction. I need a intervention.
EMILY KURC

Addiction Cruel Love Myself Need Poem Writing
He grabbed my hand as the flames licked at my feet and the devil and I danced.
EMILY KURC

Dance Devil Flame Hands Myself

A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

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A place where our stories are rewritten, and six degrees of separation no longer troubles us.

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Popular Authors

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