"write a poem,"

Sylvia Plath commanded summer before last.
Her voice in all places I looked.
Avoided and silenced letters
Crawled in front of my mind and knocked on my skull:
A polite entry into their society with a family,
Other words in Gregorian chant:
You cannot undo insanity in the third decade.

I tell the others, the eyes around me, that these words
Feel like birth announced just now,
With no time to prepare or plan, to nest and caress
The down feathery face, or kiss his tiny mouth.

A poem emerges with a scream,
Bony hands encircling my throat and pushing
Into formation. The existence of new words--
Always the ones in the language before,
Though in this birth the roots twist under the tree.

Where does it end?
Where does it begin?
Is there a start at all?
Or has it just always been?

The cycle starts again.

Feels like I’ve been in this place before,
On the ground crawling on all fours.
Another lap around this body,
Swallowing the serpents tail.
It hisses just behind me,
Covering every track I make,
When my eyes turn to see the trail,
It’ll be consumed by the snake.

My own ouroboros.

Muscles expand and contract,
Pulling me further in.
I feel myself dissolving,
The future is the past again.

**** the lights,
Take my eyes,
I don’t want to see,
The repeat of me.

My own ouroboros.

Zombie girl,

Do you weep,
For those you ****?
Do you feel cold,
Without your second soul?

Zombie girl,

Skeleton’s always smile.
Your skin’s getting colder,
Like a winter in your summer.

Zombie girl,

You’re an open casket,
Something warm died inside it.

Zombie girl,

Hang it up in your closet.
Don’t forget to close it.


Skeleton,
In the house of the living.
It’s like being alive,
But never being able to die.

Dissection,
On the surgeon’s table.
Gave its soul to death,
And she said her first goodbye.

She opened up,
The bee and the flower bud.
Carnivore,
She slammed her petals shut.

Why does it matter to you?
It belongs to me.
I stole its air,
That makes it free.

Hung it from an umbilical cord,
Tied under a broken crescent moon.
A stranger wore your skin,
Now they’re buried inside a human coffin.

She sung along to carols of the needle man.
Stillborn chorus of the cold dead thing in her hand.

She felt it die.
I heard the crocodile cry.
When she gave her first goodbye.

𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒆 

         𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 
   𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 
        𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 

𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒔

I dug up that grave-
I couldn't help myself and
now the ghosts haunt me

7:12 PM
29/7/20

The Diablo sat there one day amongst his inner innocence and decided that he no longer wanted his heart broken.
The Diablo cried and cried until he couldn't no more as it started to **** him on the inside.
The Diablo said to himself that he's going to block out all emotions and love for others and cause a reckless destruction while his heart of fire turned to cold dead stone.
His fingernails grew long and black after rotting under his temptresses phony heart.
The Diablo cried out loud but no one could hear him so he started to stomp his feet on the ground and grow his white angel wings into a sharp velvet black.
The Diablo had enough, he was tired of love, tired of being treated like a *******.
Diabo finally gave up and without a care did as he wanted to keep himself happy.
The Diablo is always filled with fire, but this time he ignited on the outside to show his burning sensation from within and he slowly withered away into a corpse shell to hide into his darkness with the phantoms in the trees.

I dreamt a dream of Rebecca,
As if she drew anear,
It was a dream filled with profound
Forgotten love and fear.

That was a joyful day I know,
We talked and played and sang
Within the spacious airy rooms;
Somewhere a church bell rang.

There all day long we ran and laughed,
And lovely words exchanged,
We plucked and ate our favourite fruit,
A wholesome lunch arranged.

Beside the casement long we stood,
And we beheld a stream,
Whose water made a ringing sound,
I heard in a sweet, sweet dream.

The evening breeze played with her locks,
That moved and swayed and flew,
And on her cheeks the moonbeams fell,
The evening breeze still blew.

She told me of her ancient home,
More ancient than this fort,
She could continue, unless a bat
would screech, her flow abort.

Down from the rafter he emerged,
Flew past the corridor,
His shiny eyes gleamed in the dark,
His ***** the silence tore.

We stood there still, we could not move,
A certain fume engulfed
Our eyes and mind, full numb we stood;
Meanwhile a wild hound barked.

I want to tell what happened then,
Although my brain betrays,
All the strange shapes men have not seen,
Did tame us and amaze.

A sudden noise, a ghastly noise
I heard, it broke my trance.
The buoyant soul of Rebecca
Off went, departed once.

Down from the terrace steep she fell,
She danced three years ago,
The sudden thud that ceased her breath,
Ceased her blood to flow.