An absentminded glance in the dregs of the cup shows, There’s something parasitic laying dormant in the leaves. Something fragile and tender, Insidious and cunning, Something waiting for your concentric words. You know those sudden waves of bracing bitterness, Where … Continue reading
They say that I brux, A four letter word with no exclamation. It’s the name they give to the pain, Of trying to grind your body to dust. Of trying to keep the scars from bleeding Of trying to forget … Continue reading
Your sweat smells different, More sour, When it’s laced with fear. Liquid terror running down In rivulets Sprung from droplets Profound and desperate To escape from your pores. Let’s bottle it all, While you shiver, And use it as warpaint. … Continue reading
Wouldn’t it be lovely if science prevailed Continue reading
On a night of ferocious joy, You catch me, dangling feathered charms again along the bow. Your face contorts, Just please let Jupiter explain, Why I don’t dance. The sky is static now, Freezing my demeanor, Splaying out my panic. … Continue reading
Shamans and debutantes await the procession. Red macrame and torn eiderdown Fleet, infusive where silver was lacking. Who will float away inside this parade? I tell the cellists to bolster their bridges, Somewhere the chorus are warming their throats, We wait … Continue reading
I counted the paces. 23 between us before I turned, and tugged the gauze across; rich with golden deer and tawny trees, it rippled against me, … Continue reading
The shadows of your lids Embroidered in the veins. Built to mesmerise, Were set down on wasteland. When you said I could take your wings when you were gone I felt so small, I couldn’t look you in the eye. … Continue reading
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