It all makes me sick, my heart beats in my throat I can’t put it off, it thickens the air like smoke I take deep breaths but all I do is shake My mind is a mess, I can’t think straight The waiting, the anticipation; I see them at every turn I stop to hold back the vomit and I listen to my stomach churn My every source of joy is plagued by the panic…
People made up the idea of God and I made up the idea of you… Both for the same reason, both urged from the same force, our fear of dying… If people can love God without having seen His face nor having heard His voice, then I guess, I can continue loving you even though I struggle to remember you… I found my religion in you and then you left without ever coming back… And…
Oh, lover of my youth, loving you was near to death experience… Your body was the deathbed where I’d lie to feel alive, while I was slowly decaying… Oh, lover of my youth, we taste our Karma in each other’s mouth… Will we erase it if we kiss more? You mistook me for your fate and then you run away… Oh, lover of my youth, we’re all born as tragedies that haven’t been written yet……
I took off my mask and I replaced it with your mouth… Scandalous and reckless, I know! But I couldn’t resist the answer of my prayer, the replacement of the fabric touch with your half eaten skin upon my lips… Now, I returned to uproot with my small teeth whatever is left covering your skeleton… I swallowed each one of your freckles like antidepressant pills hoping to cure my incurable thoughts wearing white dresses wandering…
i listen to the drip drip drip of the tap and wonder if my doubt is leaking too. it seems no matter how much i try to stop it, it squeezes itself through, ready to strike like a freshly sharpened blade, or a snarling snake with its teeth bared. ready to slice through my heart and kill my wild things. am i strong enough to stop this, or is tragedy inevitable? i listen to the…
a writer sits alone in the dark, spilling dreams onto white pages, while the moon keeps watch with wide eyes, and it seems the more the writer writes the more pale it gets, the more stars show their faces, the more the night comes alive in a celebratory honour of truth on truth in a world of lies. a writer sits alone in the dark, stringing stories into a tangible form while the shadows slither,…
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Yours always leads back to the queen and her children, After dipping her regal staff in foreign lands. Infidel here is a raw truth: She can see the foreign presence within your poise, Smell her sundry scents succumbing to yours, Concatenate the lies hidden in your voice. Your mistress is not a pleasant sight, Neither is she worth flooding royal eyes. Infidel, I have…
My love, I do not want to get up today. Hold me a little longer, a little shy of forever. Stir my body back to its sweetness Bring me my birth on a platter, A pure cry swallowed by blood, For Prey I was born to be And today, I heed that calling. Bake me in your broad embrace And I will soak you in mine. I know better now, Butter knives will slip and…
“You’ve bullshitted bullshitters for too long it is enough now!” She looked at me, Tears in her eyes, Snot flowing to her mouth unnoticed. Her face softened as she continued, “For years now you have been bleeding, Slicing roads that lead to nowhere On your perfect brown skin With a knife from your imaginary friend. Grandmother must be calling from the grave. Ignore her dear. Ignore death itself. You ink the pages with confessional poetry,…
In front of fleeting colors over a sunset sky at dusk I knelt And counted every effervescent decadence I’ve ever been allowed to humor every sharp pain I ever felt puncture my belly Against the mauve ether amalgam of melancholy-blue and fondness-pink. A zefyr came and waltzed away the thoughts and on his billowing breath I saw them flutter Scatter forgetful dandelions among treetops and rooftops against the bruised sky -Sophia Koutsouri