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Alpha Jan 13
So this is where it'll end.
This is where the sky will fall.
After all the gods died here,
So why shouldn't we all?
We've fought for so long,
It's time to get some rest.
We've done all we can,
We've done our best.
But when it's not enough
A sacrifice must be made
To alter the cruel path
That the devil has laid.
Not honour, nor money
Will redeem our reward.
Only a life will do
Where no shield can ward.
So this is where it'll end.
This is where we will be doomed.
This is the final battle.
For a new world under a new moon.
Kiernan Norman Aug 2022
In the jungle,
on the islands.
In my bedroom,
on my dumb *.

I get a text.
I need a tattoo.

A real tattoo;
a Lola's wrinkled hands slapping my thigh,
laying me over banana leaf,
then hammering long needles in my chest-
maneuvering a horn, a bone, a citrus thorn,
tap, tap, tap, tap,
sketching wounds to fill with soot.

A muted barb,
a slight prickling of skin,
then sinking, stamping, slipping-
through blood,
through muscle,
through bone.
Staining, stripping, splitting-
scraping at my inside-sun.

That’s what my grace has been feeling like.
That’s what my shame has been reeling like.

I deleted the poems.
I deleted the messages,
I tried to delete the flutter.
I want to cry but nothing comes out
my tongue is so big,
I have too many teeth.

My lungs feels the way mercury looks
pouring into a petri-dish.
Kind of trippy. I didn't even trip.
My surface is all salt and peppery,
numb, infinite,
and so, so stringy.

A man told me secrets and I didn’t flinch.
Then he got mad,
Maybe because I didn’t flinch.
Maybe because he can’t not wreck things.
I didn't flinch, so he threw *
at the wall;
a bowl of puttanesca, cute frosted cakes,
oily tabouli, slippery tteokkbokki.

We watch it drip, drip down,
until scraps and broken plates tye-dye the baseboard.
I didn’t move to clean it up,
he didn’t move to explain.
We didn’t groove to call it art.
This is, of course, a metaphor;
we don't share a wall,
I haven’t made tabouli in years.

okay. okay. okay. okay.
It’s almost funny but not there yet.
Should we laugh about this or catalog it in our dark days?
but to catalog, you'd have to stay.

You said you weren’t scared.
I said I was glad.
I said you’re big and I’m small and we might fit perfectly.
You agreed. That was before you got mad.

Something inside you is reigning rabid-
We knew this.
I am rascally and rare.
We knew this too.
My feelings are so, so big.
Can you see them in shop-windows while you walk your city?
Can you hear them while you shower, or
smell them in your coffee grounds?

That feeling again-
That Old-World ink.
That heavy-heart sink.
The static slander of my skin,
the catty condensation of my brain.
Everything inside is lava lamp-holographic,
and everything outside is pin pin pin pin.
Lola, please keep hammering.
I still feel tacky but your needles
gather up the strings.

It's not decorative:
I'm hoping it's erosive.
I'll bow down deep;
elbows up, eyes down;
an apology for not flinching
when you thought I should have.
Eros bowed out, you're not staying.
I'll bow again- it's twice for the dead.

On this island,
it's just me, that Lola,
her long needles, and my big feelings.
She can hammer them back into me
And I won't flinch.
kylie Nov 2020
the ringing in my ears
sings a melody that
only u would know
by heart
it’s not very good but u love it anyway
mark soltero Oct 2020
my skin is cold
but you’re hot within
so i don’t mind
when you’re with him
i might be lying
just please remember
the places we built
don’t take him
i can’t watch you go by tonight
mark soltero Oct 2020
sins of the past
linger about
i’m sure they’ll evaporate
after we consummate
or maybe they won’t
But i need to know
Hex Oct 2020
The scales are imbalanced,

As they have been for millennia,

Our time rushed to its end,

Like water off a sheer face,

Life drifted and swung like a pendulum,

An uncertainly guaranteed fate approaching,

At a capricious time and place,

Ticks were counted in reverse,

An attempt to fathom the unfathomable,

False prophets spoke as confidants to the future,

But no man can see to the end of the world,

Not the end, nor the limit,

But all will experience the unseen fall.
For an October goal of writing one project every day.
10/9 Theme: Future
Hex Oct 2020
A power prompted, a hammer swings,

A coil strikes like a match, agitating a flicker,

A burst of dynamism, kindling of fervor,

Swift expansion, as adrenaline burns,

Isolated fury, with no aperture for relief,

Pressure for freedom, a miniscule brute runs,

Immutable plans launched, ruination inescapable,

Velocity augmenting, blood rushes like lead,

The crack of thunder, a missionary departed,

Destiny and doom controlled by a mortal spirit,

A rise of rage flies, thrill fills the heart,

And then, contact is made,

A soul lies slaughtered, smoking gun left standing,

A world to come, cut short,

By fate controlled in one man's hand.
For an October goal of writing one project every day.
10/8 Theme: Weapon
Different puppets
Same hand

Or is it

Same puppet
Different hands
Either way, it takes skillful manipulation
Domino Black Sep 2020
Starry nights, Summer days,
You're energy; an Autumn haze,
I feel a breeze,
And when you speak,
Your voice shies me away
Cycles end,
Where seasons part
Yet when you speak
Your voice still,
Could shy,
My calm but, winter'd heart
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