Chia Amisola Jul 25

A telephone coil is burning her waist;
and to swear to plastic stars that you are
divinity, chance has bound in time.

And we are rising across the room in unbroken tombs
And we are new earth in internet waves your mind crosses
And we are your love lullaby locked inside apathy and cages
And we are dead men marching in parking lots or grocery aisles
And we are bigger than moons and smaller than god
And we are salt-locked lovers intertwined for the common sin
that we had been shunned out in a dance with the death of life
a breath against my mortality for we had laughed at the smallness
of a bound lord in his face.

I am the farthest lover
that I had ever known.

Chia Amisola Jun 19

The world sang itself backwards and burned the light.
Twisted refrain of maverick sunshine,
Corner the gods in the chaplain's host of respite.

Pray my sin will loom over men of open doors;
Pray its mercy scarred course as papal herald died:
The world sang itself backwards and burned the light.

Cry for Gomorrah — He was just yearning fight,
Condemn Sodom, He to quell the beast of man,
Corner the gods in the chaplain's host of respite.

Ask what ash looks in the twisted duress of fated night,
Mary burned her child in shrouded breast of rite:
The world sang itself backwards and burned the light.

Infinite sky and souls pranced your salt sea,
Her mighty faith and righteous and virgin and free,
Corner the gods in the chaplain's host of respite.

Magdalene of cutthroat thunder and charcoal rosary beds,
Lonely daughter with rose and demon inside her head.
The world sang itself backwards and burned the light,
Corner the gods in the chaplain's host of respite.

Chia Amisola Feb 19
arc

my heart is poured out in its undoing
you kiss my lashes; "oh darling --
never have you looked better than in .99 cent lace."
and i augment a smile like fractals bound together
my body is forevermore welcome
we burn together when your nails dig the scars
the bedframe is my self-made crucifix
"yesterday i saw the sky," and again you tell me
all the colours that i wish i would be
i keep my mouth shut - just the way you like,
perfumed vest, unkempt hair; just dig your fingers a bit further
aren't you quite the evangelist?
you look down on me with your head held high,
breath tugs in steady beats; your nails dig further
your nails dig further
your nails dig further
"i never asked to be saved,"
"but you like it, don't you?" and your mouth curls
your nails dig further and my heart
keeps pouring, i've never seen the sky in your eyes
but that's the way it is - and this is how it goes--
conditioned kisses, spiked drinks, cloth marching on the floor
no is an impossibility, drink it all up, i am yours but you're not truly mine
the ashes on your lips, cigarette marks down my spine
"this is how love is, honey. i'm going to save you,"
wonder why you trace the scars but never my smile
"hold still, i'm going to save you--"
and never have i ever asked to be save in my life
"i'm going to save you"
i don't need to be.
// pt.2
you know i've realized - i'm not much a fan of prayer;
whiskey-infused. beer bottle shards. i am more than the
reflection that has stained the bedroom floor.
aren't you quite the evangelist-
and aren't i quite the non-believer?

opening poem
Chia Amisola Jan 28

in the depths of it all
i am a raylight dreamer
sunkissed of waves
and lost in ignited paths
of deceptive things we've
named hope.

i've shot sunshine into my veins
and diluted the secrets
i scorn into the world's absence
of meaning. &
you—the cumulus
that culls down the marching
beat, the timeward effervescence
of the clock howling at the expanse
we've created.

a cloak;
coursing with lifeblood and passion
that ignites my own—whisking me
away of a daybreak melancholy,
self-created belief.

a prayer;
belfrey in the distance that
calculates our mortality. (prayers
are only meant for things
that we know we don't deserve.)

a whisper;
for the muttered words that will
never course.

for the sunlight
destined to burn before
it ever embraces

for either:
the looming catastrophe
i know we will become
exposition of a sun
in a burned out relapse

or the distant light–
burying the cloudtops
playing on raystrings
eternal shivering. &
never a vision of more.

they were all right
Chia Amisola Nov 2016

mankind has went through such inexplicable occurrences that
we have come up with makeshift words to let our sorrows
and impossible happiness drown a little bit easier.
for when you love too much and have never been given back
for when you speak to her until daybreak come, until silence perseveres
for when we scourge through sorrows even if we know it will bring us back again
for when you, cosmogyral, abound all of waves of torture
and astral silence and godlike dissipation and small talk
with the breakdowns we once knew
ineffable, or why i still love when it is committed to conflagrate.
ineffable, or why i still believe in love since inexplicably, and totally — i believe that it genuinely exists in the midst of the worlds waking.

too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words.
for g.g.
Chia Amisola Nov 2016

you were a cascade with the horizon from the moment
you were sent of halos and ethereal brine. you were a sanctified
evangelist of palinoia, descent from defiance, convection to
join a congregation of starlight when you were already labyrinths of galaxies.
when I tell you to close your eyes, you expect darkness. The succinctness
of haze, of rest, of eternity. but if you look close enough, you will see
what you are amidst the emptiness of black. colors, and
sight, result of veins and
sparks in waves and conundrums that no other would be able to see. I swear that
the universe was both infinite in its beginning and in its coronation
of an end. i swear that the light shines brightest when
the dark creeps down, embracing it, before it rushes.

of the very darkest color owing to the absence of or complete absorption of light; the opposite of white.
for f.g.
Chia Amisola Sep 2016

autumn is a dance
so gentle and beautiful,
poised with the warmth and
the desire for growth. it is fostering
worlds and snowglobes in eyes and veins,
wishing to punctuate the isles with
the lessons that she had sought
in the downfalls and the wilting
that she had braced for.

but fall is such a waltz, a fucking hazardous travesty
falling, downwards, tumbling through, crumbling
hair astray in glass trays of ashes, yet always
the wind whispers to the fall, caressing
its children and cradling its mistakes
clouds bowing. mist running.
we are mistaken tragedies in all the
midst of something so close to beautiful,
yet never quite made it there, too ashamed to
believe that we are more than just half-hearted sorrys,
excuses for the sons who rise in fragmented mythologies.

whatever you call it im done.
im tired of falling.

darling, teach
me how to drown in the sky.

"autumn is so much more beautiful than fall."
i've never told you that i liked death
slow and in pieces.
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