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

 

Just an absent shade

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No-one remembers silver,
No name or face in that shadow that dulls to grey.
Words of warning spat out like antimony crystals.
Ill-conceived expressions,
Hanging in the lines between
The brilliant lines they’ll always remember.

Strikes of contrast and lightening attack.
Cowing the undecided.
Pushing them deeper towards the centre line.

There are shivers in the trees,
Slithers of something neither black nor white,
Nor consequential, taking breath.
Something smells the hesitation,
Then gobs of flesh and time dissolve in the vortex,
Leaving only the certainty of monochrome and melancholy.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016

Porcelain

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Words that should warm, only make us brittle now.
In the dunes, fractured, you will find us.
Sipping tea until it drips through the cracks,
and probably beyond.

You said it was beauty, the bleaching of bones.
In the ocean, promised of inner landslides,
But poised are we until we’re lacquered and fired,
and made ceramic.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016

No more roses

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Rosaceae are on the move again.

Curling thorns blotting out the sun,
Casting shadows over
the shadows I no longer want to see.
Leaving only moonlight to bathe in.
Gauzy hues and iridescence
where the gaudy and asinine used to lay.
A history reconstructed.
Shading in emotions were there were none.
I seem only to remember us
twisted together in those thorns,
Delicate and tessellated.
Morphing into something we never were
and could never be.
If things had really felt that way,
I never would have left
I never would have fallen asleep.

In my dream, when you said your wife
would love this song,
A part of me withered.
The stillborn fantasy that only awakens in my sleep.
Part of me yearning for something
in the memory of your face that wasn’t you.
Awaking with an overwhelming sensation of loss.
Eyes wide open
And incandescence burns off the thorns,
Leaving a truth bare and brutal
That I won’t mourn.

Don’t give me roses, Love
They will only contaminate my other world.

(c) Accidental Tentacles 2016