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Literature Text
my vocal chords are twisting,
choking out the truth from me:
no matter where i go, the past follows,
shrouded
in burns and bruises.
this darkness rests in me,
but wakes up screaming
again
again
again,
choking out the truth from me:
no matter where i go, the past follows,
shrouded
in burns and bruises.
this darkness rests in me,
but wakes up screaming
again
again
again,
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
Literature
waterproof
sea foam regrets
wash this lacerated heart
with saline baptisms
of undying love
(and etch their
wretched revelations
on mausoleum walls).
your ancient ruins
still stand undefeated
by impudent waves
(like overexposed
polaroids showcased in
empty exhibitions).
and it's futile
exorcising
my heart of
your remnants
(because all
graveyards need
ghosts to
haunt them).
Literature
consecrate
authenticity an arsenic
in morning coffee, in the smiles
pressed like ironed laundry,
because I feel like one wrong breath,
one wrong kiss between glossed lips and soft jaws
and I will be nailed to a cross
deception a shame rising like steam,
where teeth grind against each other
like clockwork gears, tick tick ticking
while the tongue kisses the roof of its cathedral
like a prayer to gods yet to be named
because her face is a mosaic window
shining the sin out of love
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"we rise and fall but the silence
was etched
into his bones."
was etched
into his bones."
© 2012 - 2024 EternalSunday
Comments6
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feels like a pause, a pool between stumbles (one past, one future). beautiful, crying.