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Fig at my feet,
I fumble
and fret
Imagining worlds where bubbles don’t burst,
Where the sun doesn’t
                      burn
                                  away
                         ­                       into nothingness.
Where the ghosts of ex lovers haunt their mothers and the emptiness doesn’t weigh heavy on my boots.
In the distance a white rabbit beckons me forward
To a home where you never leave and she never hurts.
A place to sit and trace the rivers flowing across the heart lines in my palm.
My life mapped out before me like reels and reels of ticker tape.
He will love you like no other.
He will hold onto you like the last leaf of fall.
He will kiss you like a wave to a boat, gently and fiercely, all at once.

I swallow the blue pill and wake to craters in my hands, hollowed out by time.
And in them I’m holding not a fig, but a mulberry fruit.
Thisbe and Pyramus’ lament from the gods.
I take a bite, a bitter taste.
Because in another life, I’d be with you.
alexa j l Mar 2020
the memories spread through my mind
much like a bush fire
they do not make me warm anymore
they burn me and make my skin peel
they torture me with lies and a forced “i love you”
it feels like i’ve called 911 hundreds of times
but nobody can help us
surrounded by fire and slowly melting
screaming each other’s names til our voices are hoarse from the smoke
the flames have devoured us
nothing is left but a pile of ash
a gale Aug 2014
It’s sad
because she wore a white dress
as she said goodbye to him
letting him go, finally.
When she should’ve worn
a white dress
as she was walking down the aisle
already practicing her I do.
It’s sad
because she paired it
with tears
that carried her crystalline pain
when she should’ve paired it
with her biggest smile
carrying her most genuine happiness
It’s sad
because she was ready
with her “I do”
But not with her
“goodbye.”
It’s just sad
because he could’ve said
his I do
But now,
he couldn’t even whisper
his goodbye.
He didn’t see her
in her white dress
and he was gone
before the happiest day
of their lives
before the day
he’s been waiting for
all his life.
It’s sad
that he’s gone forever
while she’s in her white dress
with the smallest hope
that this was only a dream.
And it’s simply tragic
that their story ended
before they even began
a new beginning.
That her white dress
is the closest thing
to what could’ve been.

*a. gale
I actually had this idea as a story, not a poem. But I was too lazy to even write a short story.

— The End —