MeretriciousA sinkhole of foreverplay declared its own futility,Meretricious by AntoinetteGiulia
maybe in quiet reference to the sheer superfluity
of twin fertilities, her body and mine
(a subconscious breach, my body in mind).
In time i am drained of my fermented fire: my evenings expire,
having been atomized into prepositions to propositions.
Former selves surmised i'm made for this kind of faithless fission,
volitional hands deft with the slickness to
shatter that supposition:
i could never love like this,
shoved into casualty by this sickness
wearing my likeness like i really like this,
stripped of stomach lining and scraping off clothes.
i'm nose to nose with a displeasure coined
from the warped loins of what I've claimed to know.
Love Poem No. 140.5Sometimes i want to choke on all the poems i will never show you.Love Poem No. 140.5 by AntoinetteGiulia
No matter how many times your laugh makes me want to touch you,
i can smell the human on your breath and feel the tension in my bottleneck
from all the nights i've pretended to have something half as beautiful as you.
This summer i'm making roadkill of all the poems i've written for you
on the highway stretching my second string heartstrings across the midwest
until i've got nothing less than a desire and inability to sing.
[i'm beginning to think being human means holding doors open
for people you know are not going to come.]
Still my body's twirling around my overzealous abdomen and
i've got to learn how to keep it to myself.
Still i'm sick and picking this fiery fruit of a sun from joyless skies to
warm my downtrodden insides because your eyes are my photokeratitis
and now i'm blind
see if there's anything you want in my pink and spastic underbelly.
Death has chivalryHe comes when I’m neck-deep in porcelain. He stands below my porch, and waits for me with a smile.Death has chivalry by Nullibicity
He knows it’ll be 20 minutes at best until I muster the courage to step outside the door, and another 10 until I’ll even look at him, but he never seems to mind.
“Aren’t you tired of rejection yet?” I sigh, when I finally acknowledge him, wrinkling my temples into ripples and headaches. He’s a statue in the corner of my vision.
“Finally.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. There's that smirk. “You’ll come to me eventually.” He always sounds so sure.
“Why do you always insist on coming out like that?” He surveys my bare legs and feet as they bury toes in snow, but he stops suddenly. He doesn't look at me as he throws me up his scarf. “Frostbite isn’t a very good method for pain. Want to tell me what happened?”
I shake, but we both know it’s not the cold. I seek out his eyes like a
|Welcome to my page! if you have any spare feedback, I'd love to have it. I study classical singing, draw, write [words, music], play piano, and busk with my accordion, Barnabas.|