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Mark C Apr 2019
i **** on the patch of swollen purple on my thigh
pick the scabs my wounds formed
and dance around the beast's smoke

sometimes, i scream at him
tell him to leave
but he always screams louder

i need to bury him anyway
enfold him in the land of past selves and bad habits
and when i do
the light will pour in
as my heart grows golden roots
and the choir sings a chorus of release
while my body sways along

Mark C Apr 2019
the boy with tousled black hair met my gaze and cocked his head to the side. "come here", he mouthed with a grin that allowed his fangs, sharp and glinting, to come into view. they were like diamonds and i was a lapidary, fueled to engrave him into my memory. the other boy beside him was too busy placing kisses all over his pale neck to notice i had moved closer. eventually, he stopped. his silver eyes flashed into mine, and his lips barked a kind of laughter that brought a slick of sweat to my palms. "Claudius, who is this?"
Claudius stood up, his voice mocking. "our appetizer."
the urge to run kicked me to the stomach, but my feet couldn't sprint quick enough.
he pierced his fangs into my neck, and i drifted.
day 16 - any dreams?

wrote a short story (not a poem!) based off a dream i had two nights ago.
Mark C Apr 2019
the hazy moon dipped into silver
the glinting stars sank into gold,
and it was as if you were plucked from the pool of darkness
and plunged into the face of the earth

the constellations on your celestial body
the supernova glow of your being
is the starlight everyone needs
day 13 - celestial bodies

this one is dedicated to my baby niece.
Mark C Apr 2019
the secrets you want to keep veiled
the words you wish you had said
are hidden away in junk drawers, dusty cupboards, bulging closets

tell them that is safe here
tell them to step into the bright sun
tell them of the sanctuary that is a lover's gentle fold

we await them
day 12 - Spring Cleaning
Mark C Apr 2019
every star in the night sky
wishes to kiss me in gold dust

every rough body of ocean
wishes to wash over me in healing salt

every rose bush, blooming or wilting
wishes for me to tend to their roots

my hands do not falter,
for my golden heart
never runs out of gleaming currency

my voice cuts through the silence,
the dagger in my hand is sheathed
in a white dress and red lipstick

my home, a well-built powerhouse
stands on dark rocks,
overlooking an indigo sea at twilight.
11: Every goddess. (prompt: not from your perspective)

This is written in my mother's perspective
Mark C Apr 2019
the storm clouds threatened
to pull me into the blue river
and drown me in a mix of cobalt and smoke

i was pushed into the rift
the folds of brine,
so i pulled out my pockets
hoping the last bit of blush pinks
and buttercup yellows
would save me from the patches
of leaden gray
day 09: furor (focus on a color)
I think I (unwittingly) swayed away from the prompt and went off the rails with this one.
Mark C Apr 2019
when the Tuscan sunlight trickled through the blinds,
pouring gold specks into the room
and your light hums reverberated into my ear
as we laid in tangled sheets
it dawned on me that
home was never a place —
home was a person.
this is it, i thought
this is home.
day #8: a love poem
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