"lanugo" poems - Hello Poetry

i have been swallowed by my own reflection; bones protrude through pallid thin skin, organs caving in my stomach hoards a swarm of bees, buzzing through the empty cavern that is my translucent flesh. i am a ravenous dog teeth bearing, devouring only water and air i purge myself clean, spill out empty calories and irrational rumination, skeleton hanging out of a hollow casket, appetite smaller than my waist. i am freezing cold, lanugo littering my body, wanting to throw myself in a fire, to feel the warmth that others feel. i am a void - this body is not my own.

0

Mar 17, 2021

Mar 17, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC

lovelyshadow

atrophy

i have been swallowed by my own reflection; bones protrude through pallid thin skin, organs caving in my stomach hoards a swarm of bees, buzzing through the empty cavern that is my translucent flesh. i am a ravenous dog teeth bearing, devouring only water and air i purge myself clean, spill out empty calories and irrational rumination, skeleton hanging out of a hollow casket, appetite smaller than my waist. i am freezing cold, lanugo littering my body, wanting to throw myself in a fire, to feel the warmth that others feel. i am a void - this body is not my own.

27

a nacreous tossing around at the sides, a dappled silver sunlight if looked one way, an apocalyptic gloam if another, exhaled from a seeming mouth, feeding on what has already eviscerated an unfelt ***** a predator certainly its own prey, a heat certainly poison-breath on a cheek falling when a meretricious lover spouts that spurious hypocorism, and also just a wavering, iridescent puddle— cornered, soft as a liquid steel echo of a futile struggle rolling around, bouncing off a wine glass, and a porcelain table edge, while a listening head shakes, looks down despondently, gloom glowing out the hair, a voice jaded since birth saying some thing about differences, or a helpless slender strap of hope hanging itself on the way two other eyes look at it across checkered watered wings, two swirling god whorls, two effulgent galaxies the color of melting pine bole circling around in living umber striae, pulling its gaze, raising it, as if they, they were blazing truth cased behind lithophane, and it, only an aporetic puddle now of tepid ocher, a mild earth stone placed in a hand, asked what is thought of it and the response: yes, yes of course, before foreign distance splutters its face, and it retreats from its meaning imparted to every thing (with the vulnerable precision of a swaying finger tip) to the baby lanugo of a delicate floating, through human rills, of what is horizon docked, dead, not merely deciduous—forever jilted with breath bulging as when beating a flopping eyeless fish to half-dead, head tilted up a throat trying to pry itself free, trying to live by streaming snagless, airful, without spirant sound of going lost straight from the hands— then a short chop of fullness finally expunged and sputtering like an escaped tuft of shackled wonder soaring up the sky in a puff and soul ring.

0

Mar 27, 2012

Mar 27, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC

daniello

I in Graffiti Mural

a nacreous tossing around at the sides, a dappled silver sunlight if looked one way, an apocalyptic gloam if another, exhaled from a seeming mouth, feeding on what has already eviscerated an unfelt ***** a predator certainly its own prey, a heat certainly poison-breath on a cheek falling when a meretricious lover spouts that spurious hypocorism, and also just a wavering, iridescent puddle— cornered, soft as a liquid steel echo of a futile struggle rolling around, bouncing off a wine glass, and a porcelain table edge, while a listening head shakes, looks down despondently, gloom glowing out the hair, a voice jaded since birth saying some thing about differences, or a helpless slender strap of hope hanging itself on the way two other eyes look at it across checkered watered wings, two swirling god whorls, two effulgent galaxies the color of melting pine bole circling around in living umber striae, pulling its gaze, raising it, as if they, they were blazing truth cased behind lithophane, and it, only an aporetic puddle now of tepid ocher, a mild earth stone placed in a hand, asked what is thought of it and the response: yes, yes of course, before foreign distance splutters its face, and it retreats from its meaning imparted to every thing (with the vulnerable precision of a swaying finger tip) to the baby lanugo of a delicate floating, through human rills, of what is horizon docked, dead, not merely deciduous—forever jilted with breath bulging as when beating a flopping eyeless fish to half-dead, head tilted up a throat trying to pry itself free, trying to live by streaming snagless, airful, without spirant sound of going lost straight from the hands— then a short chop of fullness finally expunged and sputtering like an escaped tuft of shackled wonder soaring up the sky in a puff and soul ring.

63

bone chilling moments aren't what they seem to be. my body resembles a corpse, freezing to the tips of my toes, with an ice cold heart beating just enough to keep me alive. i'm a dead girl walking, littered in lanugo and blue bruised, broken ribs, and paper thin skin caving in on itself as if collapsing is inevitable. bile inhabits my stomach, yet hunger will always be the second most important anyway. pink, swollen cheeks are replaced by hollow caverns not even bears want to enter. "i am an iceberg drifting to the edge of the map," a girl who wants to be real- but can't. the blizzard winds in my head have become too heavy to thaw out and i can slowly feel my carcass of a body cast away with the rest of my past. i am gone. i am free.

0

Oct 21, 2017

Oct 21, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC

lovelyshadow

wintergirl

bone chilling moments aren't what they seem to be. my body resembles a corpse, freezing to the tips of my toes, with an ice cold heart beating just enough to keep me alive. i'm a dead girl walking, littered in lanugo and blue bruised, broken ribs, and paper thin skin caving in on itself as if collapsing is inevitable. bile inhabits my stomach, yet hunger will always be the second most important anyway. pink, swollen cheeks are replaced by hollow caverns not even bears want to enter. "i am an iceberg drifting to the edge of the map," a girl who wants to be real- but can't. the blizzard winds in my head have become too heavy to thaw out and i can slowly feel my carcass of a body cast away with the rest of my past. i am gone. i am free.

28

the stars do not align like they do every now and then not as we drove through glaucous willows not as the stelliferous night twinkled with promise through the sky roof not as my cupidity for you not as we danced in each other's arms paradisally not as the lanugo on our bare limbs blazed a golden white as we watched the sun rise the stars did not align for us. we loved like antipodes - if antipodes did not love.

0

Jul 25, 2016

Jul 25, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC

thalassicbaby

THE STARS DO NOT ALIGN

the stars do not align like they do every now and then not as we drove through glaucous willows not as the stelliferous night twinkled with promise through the sky roof not as my cupidity for you not as we danced in each other's arms paradisally not as the lanugo on our bare limbs blazed a golden white as we watched the sun rise the stars did not align for us. we loved like antipodes - if antipodes did not love.

9