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Literature Text
it wasn't abandoned
but it was quiet-
a smell of metal
in the grain silo
the ladder outside
speckled white
I clambered through
the basement
into the home
of a murder
duct taped
their feathers
to my arms
sat there
gazing
like newborn crows
before me
but it was quiet-
a smell of metal
in the grain silo
the ladder outside
speckled white
I clambered through
the basement
into the home
of a murder
duct taped
their feathers
to my arms
sat there
gazing
like newborn crows
before me
Literature
Cosmology
She left galaxies on his pillowcase
where she slept the night before
of make up colors,
shimmer, shadow,
smudged and smeared,
blurred by silent tears
- alive...
the stars leaked out with the saline –
along with the residue of dreams
that she never meant to have.
Chips of polish decorate his bed sheets,
rogue satellites
from her chewed and broken nails,
after scratching at the too-low ceiling
and his too-close back
while she slept fitfully,
searching desperately for space.
Literature
The Rumour of Icarus
Icarus—
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails
Literature
catch me if you can
i'd like to smear ashes
over bloody heathen lips
and twist burnt corsages
around the maypole.
this rotten witch's heart
would love to curse you all.
disease has never looked so
lovely, i do declare, crawling
up your blistering limbs.
in case you are not aware—
love kills slowly, but revenge tastes so sweet,
so i'll just tip-toe off of this cliff
and embrace the beast awaiting for me below.
phoenix rising,
sunlight fading;
we
all
fall
down.
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© 2013 - 2024 FallingAsleepTonight
Comments12
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Bravo.
I somehow see this poem in black and white, and red.