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