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Vreika Gaul Dec 2018
Unfurled at the chest, I await my song unto a phantom light, contained in alien walls. I rest,

Palm at a sight and scowl at how it rhymes with true.
Wrong churns a bleaker clarity that owes me pennies and pathetic fallacy,

For I stand level with a crow. His wings
are at the oaken cusp and slowly, slowly, slow,
a perch unravels for his tiny hands. Forgive me

Camphor, Locust, Pine I must.
Vreika Gaul Dec 2018
Puppy-blind to the subtleties of light, Blush is but a blood rush,
tear is but a morsel in one moment.

No buts.

They are the epics at which my swarming phantasms cower:
‘O pure it is’, ‘O yes I see’  

They shriek, sick with a pleasure unbeknownst to me. Though I agree.

A magic wand is unmatched to the humble  tongue, conjures a flush upon your cheeks-
some secret you have let me keep.

I wonder often to myself if he remains a chased-up tail and chatter.
What does it matter.

Puppy-blind am I to no avail.
For you I yield the will to flatter.
Vreika Gaul Dec 2018
it’s late and i’m fixed on forming words.
they barely stagger to their senses in wake
of a philosophical essay i’d earlier encountered- almost buckled under-
right in the heat of a comprehensive room.
a stable room that demands second thought- the glossy monitors, colour scheme intact and the myth of sysiphus before me.
my ribs tire and curl- taking notes from scorpio.
still i am that self mettle with enough pomp to claim a conscience yet graze at it all the same.
an *** and his carrot.
dedicated, driven, demanding
if you want.
call me again in a few months.
you wait.
Vreika Gaul May 2018
I seethe in mulled shame at an assymetric love
That only sighs a mist of frames we bent.
Or maybe it was you, who scrawled that customary sunshine hue
And dotted like those many sent.

Your eager plea, emerged from hibernation,
Spoke taints of threading I’ve no use for now,
For my girl sleeps with phantoms teeming in their thousands.
Hope I foresee a crowd

In which you’ll see me, sprawled above the rest.
That lofty stranger, managed he, to whom I lent eternity at best,
Is foul like secrets are. Black tea-
A habit you can now address.

— The End —