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Sonja Kuhn Feb 9
My mind is not my own, it has floated away,
far away from the bright Starbucks sign
into the streets in front where trees are melting into the cement.
The dozen-story modern buildings, all lined up,
witnesses to the goings on of human beings,
were now halfway engulfed.
My brain is entranced by an illuminated lady,
The cause of all the havoc.
She’s surrounded by her evergreen aura
slowly letting her powers drop
bit by bit into the world below.
She’s facing me with her piercing milky eyes
saying, “What can I get for you?”
My eyebrows rise, confusion obvious in my features.
The lady leans in, assesses me,
Snaps her fingers, cracks the universe in two
Like a lightning bolt coming to life.
The fog in my head clears suddenly,
a cashier appears, and with it, my consciousness.
“I’d like a vanilla sweet cream cold brew please.”
I force gratitude, pay, take my usual spot near the window
Like a robot, void of all emotions.
The lady’s still there in front of me, looking in
through my eyes, trying to steal me away again.
I shake my head as if that would stop her.
She opens her mouth to trap me in.
I feel my eyes roll back,
possession taking over my body once more.
Violent screams almost rupture my eardrums.
Then the easy melody of “Brightside” plays.
I jump right into her soul instead
Trying to fight a silent battle in my mind.
I come out victorious.
“I’m terribly sorry, I’m such a clutz”.
I snap back to reality and feel drenched in something cold.
At first I think I’m drowning in the lady’s subconscious;
then when the spots clear from my vision
I’m met with the barista’s confused eyes.
I feel my lips pull up into an easy smile.
“I killed the lady.”
Sonja Kuhn Feb 9
My angel came with fluttering white wings,
Crashing in my heart and catching my breath.
Filling my lungs with love, pulling life strings,
She infused into my veins like ****.
Now empty dust plains suffocate and choke,
Ripping my feathered angel from my hands,
Forcing sobriety, leaving just smoke,
Her long-lost essence floating in the lands.
Oxygen in my lungs; overwhelming,
Blood clean, free of the drug I can’t defy,  
My neck, stuck in a tight rope, is swelling,
Following echoes of her lullaby.
We sail the winds of dust in Sahara,
Content with the existence of our aura.

— The End —