un-ending slumber infuse her living days, reality never ceasing
her wonderous dreams. how to make her come alive?
maybe a sweet kiss would finally do the trick,
like in mere fairytales. may love be the key to unlocking
her sanity. but she is too full of her own reveries to
open her heart to anything else.
staring out over horizons, watching auroras evelop the awakening world
glimpsing the dawn as the moon arises up, the world finally asleep.
phony dawn, sealed in daydreams. gazing at the sun through the moon,
but dear, dawn comes before sunrise. you will never see it
she'd rather walk in streets, eyes closed, than open;
i. lie in fields of wild dandelions than sunflowers; so she can wish on their seeds, scattering them deep into the earth
ii. catch the ends of provisional rainbows than admiring them from a window sill; hopefully she'll unearth pots of her strayed senses
iii. toss silver dimes into bottoms of fountains than saving copper pennies; her dimes carry segments of her whispering hopes, drowning them in wavering trickles
iv. count shooting stars than gaze at the full moon; maybe if she hopes on enough stars, the sky will finally discern her
now, to say all that was delusional, she would pity
my ignorance. to strip all that away, she would no longer
have a beating heart. she lives to illusions, vicious.
They swallowed her
diaphonous feathers of watery beads ascend from the earth;
rising heavily. they whirl into the sun's realm as she sits on her throne.
her polished fiery gold crown, twinkling in sparks of honey, glow
rings of waters rest her in their presence, her burning hands resting among
their cooled backs. screams of whimpering pain strum their numb vocal chords,
cries only their heart can hear. after all, they are mere vibrations.
she presses harder, and they groan in despair, drips
of sweet sweat, slip off their necks; carrying the weight of themselves
and her. the sky bystands close by, helplessly blanketing the Sun as she
drapes over the ignorant world. Of course they
don't see their pain, because in the end
she's the queen. no matter how mystical the clouds are, nor
how alluring the royal blue's sky is, she's the sun, the adored star,
this world depends on.
but today was different, the clouds guzzled the sun
engulfing her beautiful rays in their tiny stomachs. it scorches
their cramped intenstines, burning. but they hold it in, stretching their backs
their united cracks of each bone feel so satisfying. they devour
the once-blue sky, for not alleviating them, when they needed it most,
in their mouths. plunging it down their throat, it suffocates them
but they stow it away.
today, I finally saw the clouds swell to where one's eye could reach.
their each wave caught hearts; they're silvery shade, mesmerizing.
of course, I know, the day'll come and the Sun and sky will rule
above again, but for this breath,
I will dance under threads of water instead of sunlight,
because they swallowed her.
a process: sculptor of glass
demolished glass pieces of broken sculptures
scattered in your wooden crates
amass by rusted spades, melted to
liquified clumps of fragments
slits of dried crimsom blood, tattooes
your burnt skin, charred crow marks
lash against your fair cheeks
scorched in this process, yet you blow
oxygen swirls inside walls of your swollen cheeks
lungs nudges against your ribcages
prickling stings of pain
taunt with its slithering tongue
crystalline glass flecked with
mosaiced marbles of scars and flesh
colored with drips of scarlet beads
salty gems of sweat, dyed
pinched tweezers snip away disfiguremnet
sculpting unvarnished into polished
glass carvings, but to drop it, it'll fracture back to pieces
like it never came to be before.