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cat May 23
halo, halo
flooded by musky greens
that wipe out the bitterness
to your taste
hands tight on my waste
and lifting me
to sit on a shredded pillow
the window open
the walls damp
the chill once again comforts me
embracing an icy touch
you cut my hair
a head of bleach falls to the floor
my black roots remain
fragile breaths come from the trees
awakening once more
creeping their branches into the room
creeping under my tunic
the sky clears and I am soft
the pillow empties of its feathers
removing the inside
releasing the weight
I'm throwing my phone in the ocean
so I won't have to apologize for never texting.
I'm scattering my pills in the peaceful pacific-
The ashes of multiple rescue attempts.

While I'm here I might as well walk in.
Maybe I'll float
Maybe I'll be born again.
(I'm not currently suicidal, don't be alarmed. Just writing how I feel at this moment.)
molly Jan 29
breaking up is like getting baptized
it's like becoming brand new
you were the sinner and I was Jesus
ready to forgive you
we'd say some words
and cry some tears
until things were okay
i dunked you under water
washing the mistakes you've made away
but there's a problem with new beginnings
the ending is the same as it was before
being forgiven for everything
is just reason to sin more
The deer trail is more still than quiet
Scents becoming louder than vision
Eyes close in deep temple breath

There is no more beautiful rain
     than forest mist
Sprigs of fog that are at once
     barely seen barely felt
Bundled moss like hyssop soaked
     in holy
     flicked with urgent intent
     soft wet sprays make clothes
     my nakedness
A baptism that fills my lungs
     with the spirit I belong
> May The Forest be with You.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> As published in The Indiana Gazette
> Listen to me recite Forest Spirit at
             DarkHorse7 on Bandcamp
Brynn S Nov 2018
Death is my decision
Not theirs

They act oblivious to what I scream
Each words spun in reverse to the next morning

It slithers down halls
Devouring my mind
Slowly consumes
Rage insues
Chanting the same words
Barely breaching the skin
Each voice a hum
Rotted of sin

Take my life
Do not give it back
Signal the archways
Mask the stone crack

Hopefully hopeless
Nothing will last
Each word a distant
Each promise resistant
As mourning rises
The sun sweeps a day
Returning to rain
Wash the blood away
Jade Quirk Nov 2018
“Jade, I am not crying”
“Never, your eyes are just running
You’re glowing though.”
“You’re glowing too. You know”
There are some people who's very continence glow.
These was a very precious  moment I had with friend
Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death
      on the breath of Spring.
I imagined it being tossed out a truck window
by underage teens fancying themselves clever
      and mature and immortal

as if the earth had willed upon them
      that her stolen treasure, Aluminum,
be returned or she’d cause their truck keys
      disappear for all eternity.
      I picked up the blue bottle

tried to feel resurrection
      in a recycling sort of way
felt instead only the hollow emptiness
      of mindless eternal reincarnation.
Winter had been long this year and lately
I fantasized resurrection more than usual

at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle.
Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot.

At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more,
then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head,

in self-inflicted baptism
      for my own blue bottle sins,
opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments,
      pulled out of the water
      gasping the holy Spring air
      for dear life

and thereafter walked each step
      in the garden of resurrection.
> As published in The Watershed Journal.
> As published in Dark Horse Appalachia
> Winner Editor's Choice Award, North/South Literary Canon
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
with fiery shades of wrath
woven into its shards
ripped the horizon,
dived into the ocean
to its depths of sedimented pretensions,
baptised it with drops of sulphurous fire,
to a cleansed conscience.

The ocean rose up in a high tide of exuberance,
escorted me to its depths
for the drop of sulphurous fire to baptise me,
to give my yearnings the shape of a flame
that puts my soul on fire.
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