My imagination can strip people
to the core
to the bone
to their very frame

When they smile, I
peel back the layers of happiness
and skin and pulp
until I see the hollow eye sockets
of their expressionless skull
It's not so happy anymore, but still
they smile

When they dance, I
pull down their pants on the floor
and incinerate them
until they are no longer meat
but a spine and twisting vertebrae
And joints that revolve, with hip bones
that swing

When they sing, I
strip them of all their tissue
and fat and muscle
tearing away depth to reveal their
true substance in glistening raw marrow
Unrecognizable, without their hide
or diaphragm

I can smile and dance and sing
But I am not their kin
for I am revoltingly empty
with too much flesh and no skeleton

Xaviera Allan Jan 15

pull me in your arms
wrap me up in a cocoon
so I can transform

Xaviera Allan Jan 15

our destiny was
written in the stars above
until the sunrise

Xaviera Allan Jan 15

I think it's midnight
and now my coffee is cold
but my heart is stale

Xaviera Allan Jan 12

She considered it a second repentance
Before Atlantis claimed her whole
Dry city by a dry sea, she dove in anyway
She just wanted to escape
From the ink in truth
She turned on identical streets
With white walls reflecting the sunlight
Dusty windows blocked the bright star
Skeletons bloomed around her feet
It's a parched world

She wasn't getting anywhere
Clear sky with clear clouds, she laid down
By a liquid ocean of carbon dioxide
Wisps of suffocation lessened the heat
The glaring oppression of the sun
This was her expectation of inheritance
She smuggled in the shadows
That dulled the light a bit
Where no one looked to care
She was marked with a brand
It warned she once had a heart

She thinks with her toes
A mystery lover built by eminence
At the bottom of the pond
Murky music assimilated slowly
Underground
Ruined in the twilight
Her doubt and her distrust
Could have drowned her soul
Below the bridge where eyes meet
She would lay in the sand and listen
To soothing nightmare lullabies
Waves lapping in her ears

She reaches for the plump fungi
Lush, glowing in deception's shadow
Soft around the middle
Savoring this unlikely scenario
As if filled with hydrogen
Psyche primed to explode
Her delicate pale skin exposed
Bursting from tight attire
Tissue paper ripped and shredded
Her ecstasy overflowing
Onto stuttering pools of imagination

She refused to stagnate in disgust
Though their auras bled together
Fear chases her through the darkness
Premonitions of apocalypse
Thriving in the jungle
Here is where witchcraft breathes on
In tendrils and tentacles
Empty promises to remember
As glorified dreams return to reason
Death replaces sleep

Let's be honest- we were
Never
Actually going to make to adulthood
We weren't about to let our age be our limit, so we let fate decide. We said, we're never going to give it up now.

We wouldn't make it to 21, but not because of fate,
But foolishness-
Hubris.
Not when we poisoned ourselves daily with infatuation and steadily increased the dosage.
Not when we drank moonshine under the burning hot sun and died from seven different varieties of cancer.
Not when we tried the drug of procrastination, addicted to failure until our lifeless dreams mourned.
Not when our throats were slit with the knives of others' words and we lay in the scarlet-tinged puddle of self-pity.
Certainly not when we burned by our own arson of the flimsy cardboard castles of our lives.
Inevitable, but pointless, I thought.

I was a trivial sinner in the sewage of apathy and my skin crawled at the thought of
our parasites.
Ourselves.
We had a destiny not drawn in the divinity of the sky, but in the vile humanity of the sludge beneath our feet, where our ancestors or past lives or whatever
Begged in infrasonic whispers for us not to repeat their transgressions.
But we grew up deaf
even to snow falling because of a pair of noise-cancelling earmuffs-
A welcome gift from society.
We fried on thousands of volts of empty hope. We careened off the high points of our biorhythms into nothingness. We stabbed ourselves on the sword of injustice and threatened to sue.
We were not monsters,
not devils,
not fiends risen in darkest night.
We could be worse.
We never clawed away our eyes to the evil we saw, only tore away our brains for the evil we thought.
We let our eyes stay closed.

We had dying to do, and dying can be done morally blinded.
We could have deprived ourselves of necessary sustenance with a birthday cake tied behind our back.
We could have collapsed in the sweat of cutthroat education, flayed down to our muscle.
We could have leaped off of the joyous energy of misery
Or jumped off of the precipice of determination-
And for the sole purpose of ridding the world another warm and happy soul.
Inevitable, and pointless.
 
The curtains will draw soon, and I believe I've painted too many portraits and tunneled to too many possibilities.
I abandon this state with simply an apology and a request:
Miss me if you would,
Forget me if you could,
Dream of me if you should.
I would ever so gladly appreciate it if you'd do that. But,
I'll be right here if you need me.

12-30-17
A spoken word poem.

Give them a choo-choo, a weapon
You can breathe disease with a word
A contagion
         A mindset          
                   A plague                  
Go to bed, you'll catch the writhing worms
You'll see them slithering
Beneath your skin, if you stare
If you watch long enough
You've got parasites inside you, obviously
Look at you playing surgeon
Your arms are full of mistakes.

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