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also on prose: bellairet
Good Morning, even if it's night

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Keep on keeping on.

cracked in the Dust

June 30, 2020


we are perfectly still, like the statues, our cousins
fashioned from a caring hand, visions of love and promises 
murmured tenderness sparkling in shining eyes
we remember, oh, how we loved those eyes.

we’ve never forgotten, even as
maybe those promises forgot us
promises that, as we stare lifelessly into your flat gaze
we now know better than to believe in.

we watch as you scrutinize us
sweeping over our tangled hair, knotted with vague shame
you’re taking in our filthy dress, smudged with carelessness
or maybe the force of being thrown into the dirt.

suddenly we are facing down
not covered in mud this time, but- is that dust?
and though only scuffed wood meets our eyes
we can still feel your fingers, rough on our backs.

we hear you exhale our deficiencies.

and then we are flying-
we think, yes, we know this feeling already
and so we’re not surprised when our fixed, unblinking eyes
flash over dust, through dust, and finally, landing into dust, thud.

we hear a crack. 
it’s us.
we’ve cracked, we realize, all at once.
and we split.

I watch your retreating figure with one eye
The other is pressed shut against the floor
I see the way you’ve turned intentionally
And wiped a quick hand over your face.

The silence hangs heavy, swirling with dust.

we are both cracked, and yet
only I am made of porcelain.


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  • June 30, 2020 - 6:10pm (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • Anlee

    loved this! so ethereal~ ;-;

    5 months ago