Miss Asphyxia (trypanophobic34) wrote in poet_society,
Miss Asphyxia

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"There will be time, there will be time, to prepare a face to meet the faces that you will meet..."

Here's my latest poem:

Blue and red,
Purple and yellow,
She’s every color that bruises can be.

Blue and red
Purple and yellow
Stretched as far as the eye can see.

Her laugh shattered into a thousand pieces
That flew from each other and slowly melted
For a thousand years into a thousand lullabies
Like bells – daintily winged – that perspired

And I was there, and I’ll be here
And somehow she is forever
She flinches – stillborn – like a birth defect
And bilious, silently retches

And I was there on the day she died
The sad autumn Light fell in hairless patches
Behind the silhouette shadows convened
And slowly, lazily pierced the air
Crisscrossing the afternoon Light
Colliding again and again until their movement was slowed
Until they thickened and cooled into dark burnt residue
Then Light bound them and pulled threads tight, biting ends
Into existence and looping them into perfect veins
And her skin formed and hardened into diamonds
Her eyes flowered – exploded – and froze on contact with World
And the air and my heart all around sighed,
Alas, my dearly bought Harlequin girl.

She is so stark and paper-crisp
Likely able to be ironed
Her skin probable to be broken off in pieces
And stretched easily as leather
Half of her is ecstatic, the other is tired
Her face is blue, her face is red
Her head is filled to the brim with clouds
Wisps seep through when she has a thought
And when she has a phrase rainbows jump out
Through closed lips tinged with red
Around her neck hangs a one-sided mirror
Stubbornly reflecting only what she is
Rather than, better than what is directly before her

Blue and red,
Like a jester
She cajoles and dances and sings
And at night she takes out and sets in stitches
Paints and polishes scars
Dusts the eyes that see so far within
And lays her head down to let the clouds
Waken and coalesce into dreams
She watches the reels they project into colored air
After some time, she slowly opens her torso
And extinguishes the viscous, prismatic light
That lives inside her, always and never

She’s several mutations at once
Multitudinous parts
The disease and the cure
Both fighting to gain a foothold
In an uncommonly personal war

She’s there and she’s not
I was there, I’ll be here
And somehow I have the feeling –
No, the impression – I’m never.
I’m not anywhere
I opened her up and inside were small shelves
Designed to be cluttered with starts and ends
Bits and wholes
And somehow I’ve always, always known
That the world isn’t me, but I am the world
Oh, my dearly bought Harlequin girl.


Side note: Eight members! Joy!

Side note #2: [whispers] You don't know this yet, but my secret source of nourishment springs from comments on my poems. I feed off your opinions and suck praise up through a candy cane-striped bendy straw.
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