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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse

~disorientation

 

 

 

 

 

ask me again

why the wounds

hold me here

like clots

& bruises

of another

ruined sky

with its

sharp edges

& its palette

of blackbirds

its long reach

of darkness

ask me again

why I cling

to the thunder

rioting the night

why I cling on

the edge of tremble

as ghosts look

straight through

the page where

this poem breaks

another mirror

because I will

write you seven

years in a language 

of stolen phrases

& forget-me-nots

as I tally fourteen

years of warning

signs in the way

knuckles & needles

have drawn a clef

of scars on

my bluing skin

in this space

between clouds

where I measure

the air & the

falling rain

as I plant my

suffering like

a promise in

a thicket that

waits to sprout

its roots in snow

to bristle the nest

in a branching pine

& crawl through

the wind stealing

my breath so

you can climb

the ladder of

my fractured ribs

wiggle like a worm

to a soft red apple

& fill the pretty

little holes in my

heart with wet matches

& hand-rolled

cigarettes

because you hate

everything you love

& my eyes taste

what we've broken

peppered with

salt to melt

the frost on

my bare feet

standing in

this puddle of ink

staining just beneath

my freckled flesh

with veins collapsed

from the sludge

with a throat

so full of hunger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

lah  6.11.17 ○

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Juice
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Written by InkArtist in portal Poetry & Free Verse
~disorientation
 
 
 
 
 
ask me again
why the wounds
hold me here
like clots
& bruises
of another
ruined sky
with its
sharp edges
& its palette
of blackbirds
its long reach
of darkness
ask me again
why I cling
to the thunder
rioting the night
why I cling on
the edge of tremble
as ghosts look
straight through
the page where
this poem breaks
another mirror
because I will
write you seven
years in a language 
of stolen phrases
& forget-me-nots
as I tally fourteen
years of warning
signs in the way
knuckles & needles
have drawn a clef
of scars on
my bluing skin
in this space
between clouds
where I measure
the air & the
falling rain
as I plant my
suffering like
a promise in
a thicket that
waits to sprout
its roots in snow
to bristle the nest
in a branching pine
& crawl through
the wind stealing
my breath so
you can climb
the ladder of
my fractured ribs
wiggle like a worm
to a soft red apple
& fill the pretty
little holes in my
heart with wet matches
& hand-rolled
cigarettes
because you hate
everything you love
& my eyes taste
what we've broken
peppered with
salt to melt
the frost on
my bare feet
standing in
this puddle of ink
staining just beneath
my freckled flesh
with veins collapsed
from the sludge
with a throat
so full of hunger
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lah  6.11.17 ○
#poetry  #reflection  #love  #relationships  #pain  #sadness  #breakups  #retrospection 
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Written by 44

He’s made of tears

A wobbly, barely contained

Transparent human shaped water balloon.

Inside his head a dead snake floats

Stripes of blue and green warped

By bubbles rising from down below.

He walks up the steps

Alternatively glistening and obscured by shadow

Of the rose covered trellis at my gate.

I reach out my hand

through delicate gold bars on the door.

A wavering hand of water

Does the same.

My eyes meet the snake’s eyes for a moment

As he bursts open and spills

Across the pink slate steps,

And all that is left is a rose thorn dripping

Into the puddle of tears he had saved.

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Written by 44
He’s made of tears
A wobbly, barely contained
Transparent human shaped water balloon.
Inside his head a dead snake floats
Stripes of blue and green warped
By bubbles rising from down below.
He walks up the steps
Alternatively glistening and obscured by shadow
Of the rose covered trellis at my gate.

I reach out my hand
through delicate gold bars on the door.
A wavering hand of water
Does the same.

My eyes meet the snake’s eyes for a moment
As he bursts open and spills
Across the pink slate steps,
And all that is left is a rose thorn dripping
Into the puddle of tears he had saved.
#fiction  #poetry  #reflection  #surrealism 
1
0
0
Juice
20 reads
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