I cry today, oceans of self-worth on my living room floor. Lover’s fingers touch like music, seeping strength into my bones. “I hate seeing you like this,” he says. I sniffle in response to say I hate it too. And after I sleep, after the raft sinks, I swim.
PART TWO She tastes the scent of earth and dirt in his hair, on his shirt. Where the blood starts to dry, where the tears brim his eyes. She tastes fire and life. Before she kisses the stars on his nose, she thanks the moon. She let’s him go.
Nevus like a strawberry, right below your belly, I explore places I’ve never known. #Gardens of red chrysanthemums, past overflowing rivers. Overflowing. I say things like, “#Marrow of my marrow. “Light of my heart.” Then, finish the deed. And reluctant, depart.
“You, the only words I know, “only language I speak, “My love, I must admit defeat. “Before I broke your spirit, “I aimed to crush your soul.” “Please,” you begged. “Let me go.” No more blood on hands, while cities choke. You, my ember, I, your #smoke.
The sunshine in your eyes… Dear God. The sunshine in your eyes, took me by surprise once, and now it’s my demise. I didn’t think they’d burn so bright. Quite lunar, they, in nature. But now I’ve been set ablaze, somersaulting, like embers, steadily fading, like vapor.
I’ll fucking destroy you. I’ll dangle you above a sea of starving sharks. They’ll rip you limb-from-limb, while you scream for someone, anyone, to save you from the pain. While your blood coagulates around massive gashes, I’ll destroy you more. I’ll bundle everything you love— and own- into your favorite rosemary quilt, light a match,… Read More Shells
something in you keeps me trekking through this darkness, reaching fruitlessly, ambling as if on a stroll, your hand wrapped in mine. i should’ve known better– never trust the darkness in the guise of light.
Why didn’t you warn them? Haven’t you done this before? You call my torrent of hate precious though all you’ve ever known, are my hungry, wicked veins, like tunnels, spreading, plaguing, leading you, and them, back to me. And, Dear Boy, you should’ve warned them.
She wrote a letter to God, he was unlikely to read. “I was a good mom. Did as I was told. Loved your earth, used it as my home. Please. Don’t let me suffer.” She woke in a field of white lilies, a letter in her hand. “You will not suffer. I have another plan.”
“I had a dream. Do you dream? “We were the same. In tenth grade. “We made the waves during the day. “At night we’d bring peace. Do you sleep?” “Then, did it break? Did you wake?” “I lived my life #centuries. “Dramatized wild plots and schemes. “And you were right there with me.… Read More Centuries