mikarae

mikarae Dec 2018

the air is cold.

an endless slate-grey
chilling frost-ridged trees.

the wind tunnels, whisking away
bird song,
running cars,
and leaves scraping down bare streets;

the kind of bare you only see in winter,
all picked away by the frozen weather.

the world is a drained snow globe,
so still you forget to breathe.

all you can hear
is the static in your ears
and the workings of your own
organs.

if noises could be made in these mornings, not a soul would hear them.

#winter #quiet #cold #frost #silence #eerie #frozen #bare

mikarae Dec 2018

rubatosis

noun.

hot-rod red, boiling—veins snake, denim—skin throbs.

my eyelids are pounding.

dozens of sparrows, pushing at pale canvas.

thunder gasps at the
caverns
of my lungs.

lightning
at the fuse.

noun.

an Edgar warning;
thumping at wooden chest,
racing.

it just echos.

i am not your dictionary.

i am not your dictionary.

reverberate.
reverberate.
reverberate.

hollowly, it
hymns.

muffled by fire-truck cloth
and sun-starved cotton.

noun.

blue trees dance to the
rhythm,
singing up at skylight eyes.

reverberate.

breathe.

reverberate.

repeat.

noun.

(n) the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

#obscure #sorrow #rubatosis #confusion #aware #unsettle #heartbeat #noun

mikarae Dec 2018

you are an acrobat

the water filled our lungs
and bled through the cracks in our skin.

bubbling, brimming

the sea touched my eyes and you were white
with seafoam, curdling between lashes,
silvers pooling over stark blues
on fingertips.

sinuous, submissive.

the piercing cold mixed with the rough salt
over tide-smoothed shells.

we breathed out our mist to cry over crashes of thunder.

enigmatic, flowing.

you are an acrobat, my prideful tide.

your steel waters wash the sand from my legs
and glassy waves cleanse, twisting and curling,
releasing through our ocean breeze.

you opened your eyes and all i saw was sea glass.

I sought your ocean, and it washed me away.

#solace #love #admiration #ocean #beach #water

mikarae Nov 2018

tokyo

sienna cities
sparkling saturn sunrises
sangria skyscrapers
sublime.

you are kaleidoscoped
through and through
with window blinds, bed sheets,
and street signs.

they call you modern art
and hang you on a wall
of white
and beige.

your color bleeds.

you boil
and no *** can hold you.

you speak and
wind chimes cry,
ringing into the empty night,
morose.

a ballerina can only hope
to move as gracefully
as you do.

your eyes light up
like tuscan sun cities
sizzling sirius sunsets
school bus skyscrapers
divine.

i’m hooked on your city glow
brighter than tokyo.

and i get the penthouse view

#tokyo #city #admiration #love #color #visual #galaxy

mikarae Oct 2018

fluorescent

the lights are buzzing
and my ears are stuffed with pollen
yet i can still hear the hive of bees in the ceiling.

the lights are buzzing
strobing against walls of alabaster and tiles of ***** white
neon and drunk off of the ticking of the clock.

the lights are buzzing
they carve out slivers of eyelashes
and slide flickering fingers to rest along the chin of despondency.

the lights are buzzing
their uneven beat is perfect melody
to the crying in the hall, outside waiting room 23.

they keep me numb, an empty shell with twitching fingers and vacant eyes.

#light #waiting #vacant #dark #depressing #hospital #confusion

mikarae Oct 2018

rice paper butterfly

there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears
and honey dancing off the tip of my tongue.

there are roses that tint my vision with petals of pink
and hyacinths dye my skin with a faint color between forget-me-not and periwinkle.

there are vines that creep up through the gaps in my ribs, soft limbs of green to curl a cage around the rice paper butterfly in my chest.

there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears,

and yet I can still hear every word you say.

every sting, every snarl, every bite until the line between humanity and bloodlust is blurred with the plague painted in the air.

your words hurt the thread and needle butterfly, beating its wings faintly against the thorns cracking my bones into splinters.

every

beat

is

weaker

and

weaker

until the flowers wither at the corners, mourning the loss of every leaf.

until the honey tastes of vinegar, acid burning at the walls of my mouth.

until the roses turn dusty and the hyacinths are more eggshell than cornflower.

until the spun glass butterfly beats its last fight against the growing infestation.
shattering.
infinitesimal.

all that’s left for the flowers to do is drink up the leftover gasoline and feed off of the light of your apocalypse.

flowers won't stop words. flowers don't stop much at all.
but butterflies can’t live without flowers.

#butterfly #flower #nature #self #dark #destruction

— The End —