mirror of
https://codeberg.org/lethe/mayvaneday-mu
synced 2024-11-22 10:00:59 +01:00
58 lines
1.6 KiB
Text
58 lines
1.6 KiB
Text
Kubla Clam
|
|
2020-12-13
|
|
|
|
***
|
|
|
|
the ink is not yet dry on my face
|
|
or my brush as the wind whistles
|
|
and judges how well I have painted this place.
|
|
|
|
this city is suffocating this body
|
|
too short; I should have foreseen
|
|
before I passed through that portal so haughty.
|
|
|
|
"work? pandemic? president? what the shell are you
|
|
going on about? come on, let's go see
|
|
what clothes are new."
|
|
|
|
you're sitting on that bench.
|
|
you pretend not to see me, absorbed in your phone.
|
|
my twin hearts clench.
|
|
|
|
my love will go unrequited. you apologize
|
|
as you shake your head. you already have a boyfriend.
|
|
one heart breaks over a plate of fries
|
|
|
|
and the other expected nothing less.
|
|
|
|
sirens blare in the distance far off, signaling to hide,
|
|
and you take my arm, this dual-core machine I am
|
|
on all threads as you pull me inside.
|
|
|
|
there are storm clouds on the horizon,
|
|
what used to run in my veins
|
|
a million times the poison.
|
|
|
|
[the moon pulses red](https://web.archive.org/web/20200711151636/https://countess-radfem.tumblr.com/post/622747210454564864/tjagbo-closer-than-ever-2020),
|
|
the same color as the crown
|
|
that weighs heavy on my head.
|
|
|
|
the blood spills over the terraformed land,
|
|
and for a second, I think myself
|
|
brave enough to take your hand.
|
|
|
|
but it's just another mess that cleans itself up
|
|
in the end, no more harmful than
|
|
my stomach's churning ketchup.
|
|
|
|
the sky was already growing dark.
|
|
too early: this exit I cannot halt.
|
|
|
|
as slip away the last throes of this dream,
|
|
I reassure myself that you wait on the other side of the screen
|
|
for you are the soft sunrise I can't wait to see
|
|
|
|
***
|
|
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|