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rig f laurel Jul 12
her bare feet slither through
this garden of trophies:
an army surrendered
to her red gaze. and me:
this old field of rubble
once was my flesh and bone.
rig f laurel Jul 4
the color of her eyes
is sincere as the sun,
safe as a strong embrace.
there’s history in them:
you’d tell too from one look.
i… can’t move, i… ok.
Ira Desmond Jan 2017
Avert your eyes
from looking directly
at the monster.

Look only through
that reflective shield,
that glowing rectangle

that parades a
distorted vision of
the objective self,

that which in
dark moments may
suddenly shut off,

revealing one’s face:
inverted, expressionless, petrified—
like when the

mirror of Perseus
at last revealed
Medusa’s horrifying visage.
Dat Boi Mar 2015
Have you ever done nothing wrong
Yet to be punished so severely?
Body of a monster, face of a woman,
It isn't flesh that you wear
But scales, green ones
Hissing is your music
And the sound of an unsheathed sword your funeral dirge
Have you ever
Been Medusa?
aj Feb 2015
snake lady with slit, slivers of obsidian for eyes:
i beg you to **** the light, turn me to stone, make my darkness real.

i want nothing more than to be frozen in now,
offer me the stasis, **** me somehow.

that type of halfway point between the knife and
a weakened atlas is where i lie.

turn to me and transcend my paper-thin skin to emerald.

your eyes are the portal to freedom,
god's final mouthpiece.

give the gaze that kills the half-lidding living.
About needing an escape/release from everyday "life".

— The End —