The Holes in My Palms are Not From NailsI’m not a synonym for your past girl,The Holes in My Palms are Not From Nails by DSteffi
I’m not going to be the fool
who pulls petals from a flower
hoping I’d end up on the positive
side effect. The Sandman skipped me,
so I won’t rub my eyes anymore
to see you any better.
And contrary to my belief,
you were the blurred end
to a light in water-
the credits to an unknown song.
Some would dare to call you
modern art; but I know that’s just
a euphemism for too abstract
to be understood.
But nonetheless, you made it to be
ubiquitous, a tongue twister
for someone who was never laconic,
never ravenous for a plate of zany
to keep her company-
or just drive the false vertigos
to a bit of parachuting down.
No more, paper boy. No more of your force-field
paper tears you made me swallow.
You are not my flight with Icarus,
you are not the smell of earth after rain.
So lock me up in your loosely-clenched
fingers, and hope to a burning, stagnant star
the others you bit away
would want the same.
i'd write that novel somedayI think people glue themselves togetheri'd write that novel someday by DSteffi
right after waking up. And sometimes,
there’s no time to get dry
before the alarm clock quakes.
But when they sip their coffee,
or go out for their morning run,
maybe that’s when
they reassure themselves
that the patches of tape
they rushed in the walk
from bed to door
would hold them up together-
at least until the night.
I knew I was going to do this
for a long while,
so I didn’t bother to count.
We’re like those arrows on google maps
with software hands-
or push pins on a wall
with a red string in between.
I was riding shotgun all this time
with the windows closed
and the windshield broken.
Perhaps I found the taillights
that I kept looking back at the paints
on the road.
But I also think that I earned my sleep
and the dreamlessness that comes with it.
Bullet Train Poetry and Prose. Poetry and prose. I roll them both on my tongue the way I would a circle candy; red and glistening like some star, saved in a glass case for later, save the fact that I’ve always wanted to eat one. Save also the careless folly of repeating them so I wouldn’t think of anything else. Poetry and prose. Poetry and prose. Mathematics. Stagnant and certain. It must be like finding and fitting the right fingers in between the spaces of your own. Comforting. Balancing. Finally pinning a right angle to your obtuse one. But never an answer on your own.Bullet Train by DSteffi
Like a box. Like the one I have. I don’t border the lines though, so I’m still stuck in it. But my box has friends- all not found in my backpack. Rolls of me when I was too sad to try to cry, old obligatory letters and drawings with the sun on the top left corner side. Curses
For the BoatmanCharon, I still keep the constellations in jars. You will not take me across the Acheron, so I wait on the river bank, trying to steal pennies from other passengers. I hear them clinking in your hull, ferryman, forgotten and oxidized. You call me by my name, even now.For the Boatman by SomethingOnceSacred
"Persephone is dead, and her king never heard you crying out as I have."
I sang a hymn for you, Charon, but you only smiled and turned away.
Charon, have you met the slighted king? When he called, I answered, but his memory was just as rotten as mine. I had loved him with my own shadow, once. Ferryman, have you ever been in love?
"Stay on the shore. There are those who would see you swallowed whole. Little one, stay on the shore."
No one told them they couldn't swim to Tartarus. Sometimes, I believe I knew them better before you refused my paper stars.
Charon, am I drowning again? Or has there always been saltwater here? They never said anything.
"The inbetween is purging itself of you."
No one's joi
House Of MemoriesI have come home again today my dear house of memories. I give to you my greatest gift of mind so that you may bare the ripest of fruits, so that you may be the tallest among willows, and so that you will never fade. I only ask is that you share your riches; the knowledge that I once watered you with. Well it is true you know me the best. I dare say that it is the same as you know.House Of Memories by TheInfernoVoid
For I always come and venture there within your halls slowly striding along, but before I creek open your doors I breathe in the cold air and watch the green grass bend. The sun here is neither too high nor too low and even the shadows are never to deep nor the light ever too bright. You carry about you a fondness, a warm air I believe. The breeze of remembrance and nostalgia fill the wind, but each speck of your existence forms the cosmos. Emotions and feelings beyond emotions. Understanding you and I. I share this with you, my final waters, so you may grow.
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