They laid me to sleep
in a coffin made of glass
lined with velvet apologies
thinking I'd dream of oceans
or forgiveness
or that one perfect nectarine
I'd dropped in 2003.
The ceiling shattered
while a symphony played
... wolves chasing Peter,
and me.
They chewed on my ankle -
wearing a voice that once prayed for me.
My nerves bloomed bruises.
My hands turned to questions,
tossing runes to the laughing sky
that held no answers.
My skin peeled,
old wall paper from worn bones,
regret curling
smoke above untended altars.
This is what it must mean
to be haunted by your own heartbeat,
to taste rust on your tongue,
with feet that remember
what a mind will not admit.
Love letters delivered in salt,
signed in static,
that simply read
"Persephone,
come home."

i lie facedown on the train tracks.
the gravel presses symbols into my skin,
but none of them translate.

home is a concept with too many rooms.
i sharpened my alibi
on my mother’s brittle bones
until it fit into a quieter mouth.
she didn't flinch.

the sun unthreads me one fiber at a time.
nothing resists.
blink
blink
blink
each time, the world returns
slightly rearranged—
trees on the ceiling,
windows in my stomach.

i found a way out,
but it only leads back here.
the platform loops
in the shape of an open jaw.
i circled it three times,
then laid down between its metal teeth—
the world doesn’t bite anymore.
it just holds me.

small, warm,
still breathing.
regret nests in the hinge of my jaw.
i keep it clenched, and
it doesn’t protest.
it flicks the lights off
when the rail begins to sing.
it knows the schedule better than i do.

the daylight plucks at my ribs like harp strings.
each note sounds like a name i was never meant to hold.
i buried the moon weeks ago.
she made it difficult to leave.
if you’re still listening—
the train is already halfway through me.

today,
i let the mouth stay open.
maybe the scream will crawl back in.
maybe it never left.

every evening i slaughter the sun.
every evening i cut her up on unforgiving mountain peaks
i dip her blood orange blistered flesh in saltwater;
i do this for the moon.
the sun gurgles as she drowns

Look at them,
       see them as peace
**** with intent,
       killed with honor
rest the body,
       a rest taken known

Golden dust on my fingertips, tracing circles in the air,
The night hums a secret song, whispers tangling in my hair.
You step into the candle’s glow, shadows dancing on your skin,
The world outside is fading slow—let the ritual begin.
A thread of silk around our wrists, a vow that time won’t sever,
A flame that flickers in your gaze, burning bright like a forever.
The wind carries ancient words, ones our lips don’t need to say,
With every step, we weave a spell—no force could pull away.
The incense curls, the stars hold their breath,
Two souls entwined, surrendering to death—
Of the lives we had before, the ones we leave behind,
In this sacred moment, we’re completely redefined.
Silver smoke and echoes soft, tracing patterns on your spine,
I carve my name into your soul, you etch yours into mine.
We drink the night like crimson wine, let it course through every vein,
No need to fear the fall this time—this love was built in rain.
Footsteps circling round and round, bare feet sinking in the earth,
Every heartbeat, every sigh, reborn in fire, drowned in mirth.
Hands like prayers against my skin, your voice a quiet plea,
No gods above, no past regrets—just you, the stars, and me.
The incense curls, the stars hold their breath,
Two souls entwined, surrendering to death—
Of the lives we had before, the ones we leave behind,
In this sacred moment, we’re completely redefined.
The fire dims but never dies, embers glowing in the dark,
You and I, a whispered spell, bound by every hidden mark.
Time may wane and rivers change, but this magic stays the same,
In every breath, in every step, I will always know your name.
Golden dust on my fingertips, tracing circles in the air,
The night hums a secret song, whispers tangling in my hair.
You step into the candle’s glow, shadows dancing on your skin,
The world outside is fading slow—let the ritual begin.

Tolling hungrily the hollow bell
High in pious belfry hung.

Lofty words as pride dictates
From deep in cavernous dwellings
To keep a doctrine as one
Keeps hope of the future
Locked in a chest --
The ritual of past and present notions.

Receding line at edge of seaboard
Feeding on dry land the watery grave
Filled with borrowed sentiments adrift.
The open sea -- open sores of prejudice

Cut off from inlets of vision and reason.
Preserved as Lenin's body under glass.

I finally let my demons win,
They whisper like giants, patience so thin.
In harbored of darkness I conceded my fight,
I'll no longer actively seek for the light.

My soul starts reclusing, hoping to be unborn.
Thieving shadows, my hopes they scorned.
Emotions raw, exposing myself naked bare,
A fatal step in despair's seductive entrapping lair.

A heart once ablaze, killing in one air blow.
With each pulse, I let the sorrow grow.
No armor left to guard my core,
I welcome Satan and whatever he has in store.

In the dim glow of candlelight, I stand,
Clutching the remnants of who I am.
A ritual of despair begins,
Binding me in the demons' hymn.

Chanting words I scarcely know,
I let the darkness freely flow.
An offering of my spirit's core,
A pact sealed in the silence's roar.

A dagger's edge against my skin,
The bloodied ink, my soul's chagrin.
In this ceremony, I find release,
Anointing wounds, composing this piece.

I scream, I cry, in boundless silence,
This battleground abnegating solace.
But in surrender, there's a peace,
A promise that pain shall soon cease.

I now let my demons take their place,
In the hollow of my heart's embrace.
No fight, no struggle, no facade,
Just my demons sharing a drop of my blood.

There is no graceful transition
of a cup of hot hot coffee
from one hand to another hand,
the cup only has one handle.

It is inherantly akward,
almost as if it’s intended,
a brief, forced, colaboration
to keep the coffee in the cup.

Contorting to not spill a drop,
Still, clumbsy, after these long years
and a thousand repetitions,
ten thousand hot cups of coffee.

We angle ourselves to the task,
a brief intimate fumbling,
until the cup is handed off,
and the best part of it is gone.

                                     -Still Here