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Lyra Saros Jul 21
The lonely totem tells me
These thoughts are not my own

My heart becomes a bullet
My throat becomes enclosed

My mind is stripped of thinking
Of what am I composed?
Lyra Saros Jul 4
First, you must let yourself be swallowed by her
You must relish the way she digests you
You must watch the cold gear of a tired jaw grind you to sand
You must taste her tastes
And smell her scents
You must become her if you wish to love her

Second, you must navigate her
You must become the cartographer of her hips
You must name every hair
You must know every scar and blemish like a captain knows his shore
Understand all the ways you fit into her arms best
You must memorize her rocky coasts if you wish to love her

Third, you must bleed for her
You must let her pain bruise you instead
You must drown in your own tears just to keep her cheeks dry
You must kneel for her on broken glass
Become her knight
You must be willing to give your soul to know she’ll never have to give hers if you wish to love her

Fourth, you must kiss her
You must taste the salt of her skin between your cheeks with every breath
You must bind her like a captive in your lips
You must make time to just
Kiss her
Kiss her like she’s the last person on earth
You must make her your favorite flavor if you wish to love her

Fifth, you must hear her
You must make your cheeks curl like hers when she recounts her tales
You must welcome her into your ears like your favorite song
You must hum the contours of her voice as you float between her spaces
Feel the bass drum of her heartbeat
You must dance to the sound of her breath if you wish to love her

To write a love poem for her
You must write with the words she taught you
You must speak in tongues
You must spell it out in the colors of her eyes
In the long hugs that mean only themselves
You must be fluent in her if you wish to love her

If you want to write her a love poem
You must first fall in love with her
And by then
You’ll have already done it
Written September 2018
Lyra Saros Jul 3
I’m not afraid of dying like I was before

Of course I still tremble
but now it’s less
“I don’t want to go”
and more
“I don’t want to go like this”

I know that Charon will come
That Hades' gate will swallow me

It will occur just as everything changes

Just as winter will freeze the red from my leaves
Just as the tulips will sprout on the hill garden come spring

Someday I will die

But still
I hope he will be patient with me
I hope he doesn't **** my fight to see one more sunrise

Because maybe I do want to go someday
To see if there is a blinding light

But these shadows have held me for too long
For me to give up that easy
Lyra Saros Jul 3
I wish I didn’t always say
“I’m sorry”
To you but
I am
I do

I wish I didn’t lie so easy
Your lungs eat honesty like air so

When I say “I love you” what I really mean is
“You smell enough like my mother I can almost forget how much it hurts” or
“You look just like a ghost when you smile”

And when I kiss you goodnight I’m really just trying to
Mask the taste of copper with salty skin and your perfume

I can try to love you but
Both our hands are too cold to hold
So we’ll just **** until we’re warm again

We are mania
We are the exact opposite of a butterfly kiss
We are each other’s anchors to the chaos

My heart only beats when yours does and
My skin only crawls when yours scars it and
I know I’m going to burn alive in you
but we’re both going to die in the end

At least your torture feels safer
Lyra Saros Jul 3
Death is the thing which withers
The tale that is all told -
And is the moon the world obscures -
And never stops - at all -

And slowest - from the veil - is stirred -
Her new and ancient form -
That holds through night and day interred
Within the heavy storm -

I’ve held her in the grimmest hands -
And yet she spoke to me -
I’ll - never - in eternity
And more than life - of thee
Obviously, I wrote this poem using the rhythm and rhyme pattern of Emily Dickinson's famous "Hope is the Thing with Feathers". I hope that isn't cheating.
Lyra Saros Jul 3
There’s a knife in my hand
And I’m standing stiff in the dressing room like a cat in a rainstorm
Because the lace in the dress smells like my open casket and my mom made me wear it anyway

And I don’t know what I’m waiting for or
Why this room seems so small
But the lights are buzzing
(Or maybe it’s just my head)

And my skin feels like the sound of course papers sliding over each other or the squeak of my breaks in the middle of the intersection
And I know I can try to scream but there’s cotton in my mouth and
I don’t know why I want to anyway

So instead I’ll take this blade and
Carve other people’s names into the glass of the mirror
Because it’s nice to leave scars that don’t belong to me

There’s a knife in my hand
And I’m caught in the gyre that I swear is going to drown me but
When I look around everyone's above water

— The End —