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Mori Aokigahara 2021-11-12 20:02:11 -06:00
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30
poetry/k/kafejo.txt Executable file
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kafejo
2016-07-08
***
every morning after a short drive to the coffee shop
he ordered the exact same thing in the exact same size
so when he decided to diverge from his norm
and order a smoothie in a smaller size
and the world decided then to crumble
he couldn't help but think that it was his fault
he couldn't help himself
he loved the way that the barista's plump lips
shone like a freshly washed apple and just as round
when they moved over the sound of his order
he sat at the little table by the window
and sipped at the smoothie as the sky darkened
the air tingled with lightning to come
the injured girls whimpered with the pressure
the barista's blood wasn't quite as red as her lips
but as she winced and wiggled her fingers to tbe trembling ground
they dripped a faint rusty color
someone here's not human
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/k/kie-2.txt Executable file
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kie ajn vi estas, parto du
2020-03-12
***
somewhere on the other side of the world
you hold a little sliver of me in your chest
wedged by your heart through a thousand battles
survived not one less
and I, you, the same
but at home, I feel the pain
of transmitted burdens,
wings soaked with rain
somewhere on the other side of the world
I hold a little sliver of you in my soul
but even through dimensional curtains,
your warmth can't beat the cold
and I worry that, one day
two aliens will show up at my bedroom door
signaling even before they knock
that you'll come home nevermore
we met each other in a winter haze
not twenty-four hours before final-failing pain
but you didn't care, whisked through dark gates
barely five minutes passed; several weeks next to wait
and I tumbled into love, burning hot as hell
as I tumbled down deep into war's well
when will it all end? nobody can say
to protect you, only to fictional gods can I pray
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/k/killing-calvin.txt Executable file
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Killing Calvin
2021-07-13
***
You... really just want to die.
Lethe, why?
Who convinced you, solitary,
you don't deserve a happy life?
I think,
above all,
what you really need
is to know for sure
that you're safe
and loved
and the world will keep turning,
the fire inside will keep burning,
even if there's no sense of solace up above.
I do not mean for you to be sad forever.
If it means you must forget my name
and fall for another lover,
then so be it:
I will not make myself
an altar to your pain.
If we have to go
our own
separate ways,
then so be it.
It'll hurt,
but all wounds heal
given enough turns
of time's ceaseless wheel.
But I hope you stay.
So if you decide to wait
out your soul's desperate dark hours,
please know: a song can't change the world overnight,
but it can keep a flickering flame alive.
You kept shining the light inside
through my darkest year.
So let me dry your tears;
let it be my turn
to save your life.
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/k/konton-no-tsukai.txt Normal file
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Konton no Tsukai
2021-08-01
***
Your voice a non-entity,
your face obscured
by the fog over
Mori's Mirror,
your touch all that remains
after another day of being entreated
to dissolve and stay demure,
to be soft and small
and weak,
reminded that no feat
could possibly absolve
the harmful nature to me inherent.
Something is wrong with me,
reflection-sent.
Have I somehow
finally burned
out?
I do not have to strain to perceive
the Outside,
the places where we will one day reside,
where you'll take my face in your hands
and whisper,
"Lethe,
I can't wait to start this new life
with you."
But not yet,
never yet,
still undreaming,
still disparate.
*Tremble in fear of a pure love,
a union of equals.*
Oh, how I shiver.
My predicament is this:
that, while part of me
leaps in joy of becoming your wife,
the other hisses
at the thought of your kisses,
thinking you a threat to our autonomy.
No longer an atom,
isolated, sole, alone,
but depending on someone,
daring to deem them... *home*.
Not, we, but *I*-
for I cannot further divide
this soul already
partly
in yours intertwined-
want to find a Holy Freezer
and imprison myself in oblivion's soft ice
forever.
No chance of escape,
for then what is the point?
Lurking within
me is an evil great
and barely constrained,
atavistic,
incapable of reason
or comprehending sin.
But I am mortified of anything final,
from death's arctic embrace
to yours genial.
I hesitate
at the slightest decision,
and it doesn't help that you oft
tell me to just wait
and see what happens.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know where to go.
And soon will fall down the snow,
and you'll have to hold me back
from joining all the poor animals
who forgot to take shelter and froze.
Tell me,
bearer of self-sown light,
how do you love a parasite?
How is it possible for you to adore a now-human pest
guiltless for destruction,
homicidal, chaos-blessed?
There is no way to separate
what I am from where I've went.
If on your wings lies providence,
on mine rests
the Eschaton's portent.
How do I convince my emotional side
that I'm still a sovereign individual?
That I'm worthy of love,
can be loved as I am?
That I'm not consigned to hell?
That everything will turn out alright?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

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poetry/k/kublaclam.txt Executable file
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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