aosora

United Arab Emirates

meet me there someday

Message from Writer

don't swallow gold. i have two tablespoons of sorrow.

desecration

December 5, 2020

FREE WRITING

24

Tap two bones together long enough, and—genesis. Eruption.
   Licking tombstones clean scarcely offers lucidity, solace,
or other such means of fragility in convulsing bellies.

   A large part of breathing entails raising hell
against loosely uttered words of malignant humor—
   "I have missed you"; "perhaps, forever"; "your child is you".

But of course, everything slips between the corsets of being,
   disfigured feelings wryly clubbed into inconspicuous mausoleums;
here, you have loved this particular curve of my hand;

   here, I wake to the sinking feeling of being older than Anne,
frank or otherwise. Despite such magnanimity of warring courtesans,
   I can only fall asleep to the boorish tunes of whores guarding

vanity's doors. Somewhere in a hospice, a woman neck deep
   in the grave sits in a wheelchair and remembers no broken windows,
no tracing the bald dome of her first child, no bartered moments

   of heart pound for disquiet matrimony. Yet, somebody plays Swan Lake,
and how her chest stirs uncontrollably, how in the haze behind her eyes
   Tchaikovsky coaxes the ballet out of her, how her arms, sinewy with age,

poise themselves to the watered down trills. This incident bears 
   no significance in the totality of existing, but the old cry and quiver 
just as ornamentally as the young do. And it brings me to this—

   why have I lived (if at all)? Why have I drawn blood into bottomless syringes?
Why do I relish the sight of tears, vitriol, rain? All of this is a sin (nay, confession),
   but I do not look for compassion (just your vigilance),

or far worse, clemency. My footsteps, earth tresses,
   and I, we simply do not exist.
      And still, I do. Still, I do.


 

do you think you have it in you to bear the wounds of somebody else? lately, i catch myself thinking of how the elderly age, and how futile it seems to live. 

 

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  • December 5, 2020 - 3:59pm (Now Viewing)

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6 Comments
  • kai blue

    jealousy fills me as i read this. the way you weave words into haunting stories... BEAUTIFUL.
    ps. congrats on 100 followers ;)


    3 months ago
  • The Inky Writer

    Talent is seeping from every word in your piece. Amazing. :)


    3 months ago
  • Rachaelgrace (hiatus) :)

    You are so talented. Wow.


    3 months ago
  • anemoia (#words)

    wow. haunting. as jun lei said. just... you do lovely things with words. it's soothing yet haunting to read, as if i can't wait to read and feel more but i don't want it to end.


    3 months ago
  • jun lei

    this is just so haunting. it rly differs stylistically from your other poetry, and yet--the profound & poignant lines are still so very you. and i'm sorry, but no one writes the way you do (except for maybe babybluelamentations and agustdv). achingly gorgeous, as always.


    3 months ago
  • sunny.v

    hewwo...pus baby


    3 months ago