svell:

Will Rogan, Other Worlds, 2009.

A soggy striped sweater sat

warming on the radiator,

damp from wet snow and rain.

Its collar hung low like a school

child inside on a sunny afternoon.

Tears dripped from the buttons,

plopping onto the hard wood floors with disdain.

As the heater began to hiss quietly

the sleeves began filling with hot air,

 fibers coming back to life until

it was so full of being it peeled itself from

the rusty metal panels, shook itself

out on the Persian rug and began

to dance around the room, laughing

at how it was ever sad in the first place.

(Source: blinkanditsover)

(Source: boltron)

You would taste like a million finger prints

And smell of envelopes and loneliness

Your paint would be chipped from a faulty flag

Your hinge would squeak from rain season

I would open you, and feel nothing inside