What are you thinking about?

insularcortex Poems

You say we have the same eyes, and I could spend eternity trying to wax poetic, emphasizing ambers, honeys, and suns, that can only mimic their radiance from our forms. But they fall short of where my agony lives, and I say agony because lyricists say this is roller coasters, ferris wheels, sunny days, and stormy nights, where joy is the absence of suffering. But somewhere in history, four small hands grasped dirt and dust only to find life inside, abandoning philosophy for something more precious. To think our fingertips have touched the same earth is what the pious must feel before death. How can you say we have the same eyes when mine are wildfire tragedy, and yours are January’s starlight? When we were once rooted there was something shared, only for it to be ripped from my body to feel like a winter without snow. I am undeserving, and yet it will only be moments until I remove your ribs, stealing ichor from the gods, because it is my own vindication, or perhaps, the only thing I know. And still, you only graze me like porcelain.