Subhuman

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Like a puncture to my lungs
Darted with poison and spite
Your words find me.
And though my nails may scrape against
my cold levitating ceilings.
I can never dig through.
Lurking only in the shadow,
of your miasmic cloudscraper.
You say your tea tastes sweeter,
Than the honey I forgot to put away.
Do you think it doesn’t hurt me,
To be always looking up?
To watch the sparks,
Of denigration from your soliloquy,
Settle like dandruff my shoulders.
Swaddling me with papier-mache distortions,
Layers of endless demotion,
Pinned with inky spears that paint me
An imposter in my own skin.
That paint me subhuman.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016

 

In search of sublimation

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Glacial introspection caught,
under the spell of yesterday’s fall.
She is writing letters to the ocean.
Frozen fragments of fierce effluvium,
splintering from her shaking cynosure.
January carried in her soul,
kaleidoscopic memories,
involuntarily rise.
Crystals cracking open,
spilling the secrets,
that she harbored.

Let the tide,

melt them,

away.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016