Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
wrens_musingsPoems
VII. mitosis i... i love him and i will pay with fire and brimstone maybe i’ll realize that the plot arc of my life doesn’t really make any sense anymore that i don’t know where i’m going (i never really did) and i’m falling i’m ******* falling the potter's wheel lays in disuse the clay has cracked much like ourselves crazed in the heat of our crucible the teacups are but shards and no golden lacquer remains to mend, to smooth sharp edges we cherish things until we can replace them "fragile, handle with care" i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot i didn’t reset to factory default i didn’t come assembled but i didn’t come broken either we were dealt the cards before we even knew we were players and i cry for innocence had, and innocence lost innocence misplaced, and innocence taken my nightmares lathered in sterile surgeon cyan after all, we lobotomized machines could never feel what pleasures lie, in those frosty windowed wards! arched backs, bucked hips gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken bulimic hearts, skinny love i need not drink but the viscous milken nectar of our lust what pleasure, achilles! what pleasure? what pleasure is there in the supplication of sutured flesh? iphigenia, astynome...briseis— flesh blemished, removed, replaced housing haunted souls heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus... are we too consigned to eternal song, that bitter deathless death, like our tragic forbearers? our glory, our hamartia lies only in our love, philtatos when wisdom brings no profit to be wise is to suffer the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted quell your arrogance mitotic spindle my name means glory to the father and i am the prodigal son all is equal in the chaotic omniscience of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war we? we are indivisible.
0
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 11:14 PM UTC
iliad, a poem | no. 7
VII. mitosis i... i love him and i will pay with fire and brimstone maybe i’ll realize that the plot arc of my life doesn’t really make any sense anymore that i don’t know where i’m going (i never really did) and i’m falling i’m ******* falling the potter's wheel lays in disuse the clay has cracked much like ourselves crazed in the heat of our crucible the teacups are but shards and no golden lacquer remains to mend, to smooth sharp edges we cherish things until we can replace them "fragile, handle with care" i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot i didn’t reset to factory default i didn’t come assembled but i didn’t come broken either we were dealt the cards before we even knew we were players and i cry for innocence had, and innocence lost innocence misplaced, and innocence taken my nightmares lathered in sterile surgeon cyan after all, we lobotomized machines could never feel what pleasures lie, in those frosty windowed wards! arched backs, bucked hips gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken bulimic hearts, skinny love i need not drink but the viscous milken nectar of our lust what pleasure, achilles! what pleasure? what pleasure is there in the supplication of sutured flesh? iphigenia, astynome...briseis— flesh blemished, removed, replaced housing haunted souls heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus... are we too consigned to eternal song, that bitter deathless death, like our tragic forbearers? our glory, our hamartia lies only in our love, philtatos when wisdom brings no profit to be wise is to suffer the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted quell your arrogance mitotic spindle my name means glory to the father and i am the prodigal son all is equal in the chaotic omniscience of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war we? we are indivisible.
wrens_musings
Written by
wrens_musings
20/M/in our idle town
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 11:14 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem