Cocoon

Iridescent strands

Woven by dancing fingers

sealed together by crystal tears

 

She breathes in moondust

letting winter take hold

making everything porcelain

 

Her creation shimmers

and shudders

as if it were to blow away

yet she continues.

 

As she finishes

her lungs expel the last

of the warmth

from frosty lungs

 

and falls to endless slumber,

safe within her cocoon.

Advertisements

Untethered

Whispers carry the dreams

that were developed

in locked bathroom stalls

in tangled locks of shedding hair

in the food buried deep in trash cans

and in kisses sent across thousands of miles

that never reached the deadened insides

of another caged girl.

 

The girl who gleams with the tears of others

and who shimmers dully of repressed desires.

 

Untethered from her post

the girl glides free from the weight of secrets

that dissipate as she disappears

leaving only still remains

of forgotten girls,

pierced by their own bones.

Do I Die?

I fall

unencumbered by the force

that has ruled my life

since the start of clockless time.

 

Their windswept faces

Their cracked profiles

Stand and wait

With bored certainty.

 

A delirium contracts around

the speckled white blue

as a bony hand holds up the yarn

ready for snipping.

 

Saved from certainty

Deprived of life

I fall,

I fall,

I fall.

But do I die?

Taste

Extolled upon ravenous breath

as yearning tugs upon crusty corners

and fingers pick at soft center.

Eyes swept by a frosty chill

now berated from a scolding sun

“The child left for too long.”

As mouth alight the senses burn

emotions stifled beneath control

finally grasp at a breath long held.

Disintegration making parts most prized

to fall

and the dormant hunger wakes with rage.

Chewing in pleasure

fasting with ecstasy

sedating a monster

born from repression.

The Haze

The world is so pretty through the haze
all soft edges 
all blurred colors
all full of warmth.

Summer’s haze carries the sweet memories
of laughter and mouth creases
so this alabaster skin
can no longer the cold touch,

The brush of the haze
sends ripples across a still mind
and wakes the tattered girl
who was long forgotten.

All it takes is one little pill
and then the haze descends –
a welcome break
from reality.

The Mind

Breath stolen by spinning disks of obsidian,

turntables hitching in midst of old voices; trapped in the moment

etched lines the mother of sweet sound,

reverberating through vast chambers of the rambling heart –

crumbling frozen spindles of the mind;

a key to ricocheting memories

thawing the long spent cries to forgive,

lost in bombardment through steel-tipped thoughts.