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422 · Nov 2018
demon
jae Nov 2018
“bony is beautiful” you whisper as you reach towards me with your luring, sticky fingers extending out as you wrap them around my cold body.
you sharpen my inhales as they cut my heart on their way to my lungs.
you sear your print into my pale skin claiming me as your child of the night.
the previous marks are melting away into something more, pooling at my feet, bathing me in its sick glaze.
you tremble against my skin as you feed on my fear and insecurities, dragging me deeper and deeper into your fiery hell.
you look me in my eyes and wrap your hands around my delicate neck, my vision fades.

you are my demon;
the fear of others and the depths of human mentality,
the untraceable percentage of human worthlessness,
the detestable attraction to the demise of our minds.

i don’t even know what you look like, but i can feel you here.
your dehydrated skin that reminds me of leather
the ashes you were formed from
that are now clouding my lungs and
i cannot breathe

maybe all it took was my change in scenery;
my hair grew longer, and so did your claws.
and i’m now manifested with the scars you materialized.

scarification;
a permanent body modification

you said i don’t deserve happiness unless i suffer for it.
and now i can never see you until it’s too late and i’m already bleeding.

i didn’t know having you around would make me want to be so skinny
until you were cutting away at all the edges that had grown soft since i finally left him.

leaving;
it was a topic that flooded my mind for months.
it looked like a strict diet of fingernails and bones crushed into salt.
it was swallowing chalk dust to begin the day, shoving shards of glass into the scars of my heart.
it was ripping myself from the comfort of my own home.
it was being afraid of the dark.
it was swallowing my own heart.                                                           ­                  
                                             ­       
and now, you, my demon, hold my body, empty
my soul scooped out of myself
nothing left but skin
i placed my body in your hands
i allowed you to blight my body
you said you would protect me
i scrawled poetry into broken bits and you laughed

but now?
you and him suffocate on my sunshine
the sugar you two injected in me, to keep me sweet and vulnerable,
is dying off.
until the only part of you two that will remain within me
is the notch in my heart.
and it makes my heart beat for three.
.
.
.
in these moments,
i'll find strength.
i'll have courage and fervor to hold on.

when my inner demon taunts me to let go,
when it smirks because the intensity is burning,
and my soul bleeds and bones ache,
and my will is tested

when the ranking of that boy was so high in the depths of my mind,
and he just blew it all away
and you're left to pick up the pieces

but his punches were so so kind
and now all that's left is the presbyopia of love

you're a "pretty girl with a pretty face"
that your demon and he will infinitely chase.
gripping your heart,
and clouding your mind

but it's all in your head

where an escape is impossible to hide.
126 · May 2019
an elegy to the U.S of A
jae May 2019
They say it was long ago that we crafted the glory of the gods
stripped souls built their thrones as we lay hollow and broke.
We conceived literature and poetry; the likes of which the world has never seen.
We told stories of prophets and fiends, all to detail enigmatic intrigue.
We unknowingly betrayed ourselves, and
separate stories became separate beliefs.
Children were taught love and affection and years later were sent armed to the battlefield.
Politicians purged families for power, the poor became mindless and meek.
The greedy grew stronger, as they overpowered the weak.
the tales of our dreaded destiny disappeared as our humanity crumbled before us
our dilapidated divinity was lost to the ages and heaven and hell were left at a cusp
perhaps we should pray
just one final time
and reach out to the heavens for our humanity is dying…
I throw my voice down a wishing well,
my affirmations stumble out of my mouth and I wait for my voice to return to me.
My eardrums wait for the words to knock some sense into them
and silence plays this elegy.
You can lead your head to sunlight,
but you can’t make it think.

— The End —