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Skaidrum Sep 23

oh, you fallen thing;
please just hang the world up in
the closet and heal.
Of the haiku series
xxiii. i cannot afford to be this broken.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Skaidrum Jun 18
———"that familiar boiling yolk of a sunrise—comas richer than russian dark chocolate— & saturn smoking a cigar while playing chess with gravity... i have been here before."

ocean dove, pardon my excuses for not writing as of late; been busy fulfilling a prophecy that can't even look me in the eye and ask me to change.  in the june wreckage of two thousand and sixteen;  i retired my tongue with the dormant volcanoes  before the world could end in my mouth.  and yet my poetry informs me that there are some wounds too sophisticated to even flower into scars—kind of like how my words will never feel like honey again, (but vinegar nonetheless.)

how cruel of me it was; to condemn you to a death without one final cigarette slow dancing with your lungs.  i miss the shadows of you most: the belt of venus caged like a wild animal in your eyes, your rusty guitar silky voice dripping off the haunted house we called home, countless a.m. drives kicking up filthy moonlight in the rearview mirror, but most of all—the way you said 'i love you' like it was nothing dressed up in something fashionable.

it is now the june of two thousand and nineteen. this wreckage sat on a throne and filled into the moon's shoes. a crown crawled it's way home to my head and kissed me with knowledge drenched in your name.  this queen started from lesson no. 1: broken instruments, will preach broken sounds—  and how lovely it has been, planting a world war in my soul only to raise eden in it's stead.  i will miss your company, but your ghost is no longer a requirement for me to be complete.

i have learned to stop loving falsehoods.  i have learned to start loving the leftovers of who i am becoming.  we would have been star crossed lovers had you not tried to swallow that bottle of pills that famous night where we fought like madonnas— but it looks like you got to death's fortune cookie before i did.

"and one day, you will have lived long enough to taste your grief turn bittersweet too"
———
my alibi still tosses in it's sleep at night thinking of you.
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Skaidrum Apr 30

Slow dying flower,
will you sleep within eden,
or in god's belly?
Of the haiku series
xxii. another life another ribcage

© Copywrite Skaidrum
When Adam ***** Eve
And calls out Lilith’s name
the slinking Power inside her
Opens one sleepy eye
And uncurls two glistening fangs
Eve wraps her fingers around Adam’s given rib
Hands ****** and covered in blood
Eve plunges bone into sacred heart
Hears him gasp from gospel mouth
Mutters her name like prayer,
Like truth
Winds herself around him in python embrace
Swallows the blessed body whole
And becomes the Garden he dies in

God looks away
Skaidrum Mar 8
——————
i.
a dragon's claw;
merely leftovers of the moon
from last night's revolution,
and he beseeched a god long absent:
"how'd you forget my name in the grave
last week?"


ii.
i break bones like i break bread,
and hell recoils at the rare mention of me;
"—we're using blood for watercolors baby—"
'cause sometimes,
i don't think they understand
my heart.

iii.
god took the world to the doctor,
and asked for a cure he couldn't afford;
for the sun has already set in the palms
of my hands, o' father...
and there can only be so many
bones knitted together in this womb.

iv.
recall that,
reality only reveals itself when it feels
like making a fool out of someone;
and i don't know what stage of grief
i'm in—
or if I'm even in one
at all.

v.
i drink tea with ghosts
every other tuesday,
trying to make sense of it all;
because at some point,
—i'll stop eating bullets for
people's whose eyes
pull triggers.

vi.
mama always did raise me to be a sword,
and i killed when she told me to.
because, you see—
the fragile things die
in the cold, and what i find interesting
is that i've remained;
and ultimately?
it's a beautiful thing.

vii.
and when will i learn?
that mercy is false hope amongst all else, darling,
but enough already;
this poem's got universes full
of emotional baggage.

viii.
you said
you're a dreamer?
great, get in line kid,
you'll get a chance to change the ******* world,
just take a number
—like the rest of us;
but, then again...
"the world has always been ready
to receive you, hasn't it?
"
amen to that,
amen indeed.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Skaidrum Mar 1

Father ate bullets
for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and
sold his soul for me.
Of the haiku series
xxi. from wine to blood

© Copywrite Skaidrum
  Feb 4 Skaidrum
grumpy thumb
Stars prickle the darkness
counterpoints to measure its vastness
they steal eyes and gift wonderment  
allow birth of dream and scientific torment
they witness and receive wishes,
they exist yet
many are no longer in existence
the closest is only seen in its loneliness
yearning to shed the veil of blue
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