A Flawless Fabrication

We were lying in the grass together,
Gazing up at the spill of stars across the obsidian sky
With our fingers carelessly intertwined
And our hearts engaged in a modest foxtrot,
No sense of time passing,
Only the melody of the moon:
Thousands of insects harmonizing under the crescent glow;
Light languidly dripping from the heavens
Landed on the earth around us as fireflies,
And the cool summer breeze
Encouraged us to seek warmth from each other.

The only way it could have been more perfect,
Is if it had actually happened.

Le Cadeau de Mort

The revised version, as of February 17, 2012.

Prologue:
An angel of darkness,
A knight of the night itself,
A beautiful fiend of silence and shadows,
He haunted me after dusk,
His presence pervading my dreams
And consuming my thoughts,
Endlessly.

Apogée:
Curtains of translucent ivory billowing from the open window
Struggle in vain to chase after me,
To disencumber me from this inescapable fate,
But I am beyond restoration:
He drinks my life from the deepest channel;
Neck arched and face upturned,
I watch the moon slip behind a grey haze.
“Mon amour, je suis désolé.”

Épilogue:
I hear the patter of soil on my temporary roof.
Enveloped by darkness and crimson silk,
Imprisoned by walls of mahogany,
But it won’t be long now:
He will come for me; I will resurface,
And we will take flight.

Click to see the original draft.

Doppelgängers of Glass

The revised version as of February 1, 2012.

I had only wanted a way home –
Simple transportation,
Movement from one location to the next –
When I noticed

A sly deception of nature:
A bus brimming with beautiful beings –

Lips, dewy and pink, creeping back flirtatiously
To reveal impeccably iridescent smiles,
Golden cascades of silk framing
Symmetrical palettes of ivory or peach,
Cobalt eyes dancing
Mischievously behind a fringe of dark lashes,
Slender fingers culminating
In flawless windows with
Tiny crescent moons at their sills –

Whose splendor was a facade.

For when I glanced outside to check our course,
Light bounced off the tinted egress,
Darkening my view of the road and evening sky
And exposing an unnatural horror:

My perception changed as the creatures transformed;
Their aberrant reflections –

Foul snarls baring contaminated openings
Of jagged decaying fangs,
Ethereal curtains of black hanging
Lifeless about pallid sneers,
Liquid black chasms
Amidst rotting, wilting flesh,
Manus, encrusted in crimson,
Tapering into
Stained and infected claws –

Unveiled shadowy secrets, both theirs and mine.

Click to see the original draft.

Frozen Ponderings

(A Three-Sentence Poem)

Smoky grey tendrils of warmth creep from
deep within my lungs and escape
into the surrounding frost until
they are lost, swirling away into the icy air
as my hair is misted with crystals.

Is this breath the only distinction
between the biting cold death that awaits
in nature’s frozen château
and the flow of hot blood indubitably
indicating my life?

Naked silhouetted tree limbs sway
in the moon’s silvery light, and as the wind dances
the cold fingers on their branches reach out
imploringly, to touch my cheek
with whispered queries of their own.

irreversible

irreversible

that sick-to-your-stomach feeling
of instant regret
emotional nausea
and burning eyes
white hot tears dancing on the edge
of your lashes
threatening to spill over
to scream for attention
body disobeying your mind
a leaden weight fills
your abdomen
the once fluttering butterflies
lay heavy and dead
you can almost taste the vomit
teasing its way up
your esophagus
as you tremble trying
to hold it back
a scorching pain aggressively
tearing apart
your chest
frantic breathing takes over
mind and body synonymously
convulsing in near hysteria
at what you cannot
take back

Love Story (Version 2.0)

We believed it a chapter of destruction.
But oddly enough,
It’s the base of your entire book.
No plot, climax, or resolution,
Just a sick circle of absolute conflict.

Why not throw away the two young heroines,
Rip out the pages about them?
This seems to be a motif for you.
Playing house with the villain and lying the whole time.
Now that makes for a good love story.

We’d gladly watch him drive you mad, if the setting excluded us.
But alas, you made us unwilling scapegoats
Who suffer the consequences of your childish decisions.
Dealing with the plagues of his sadistic mind,
The way they seeped into yours like an infection.

Choosing between us and him,
But always choosing wrong.
You want to feel young; you love him.
You must think you’re living in a romance novel.
Besides, your story is “none of our business.”

But everyone’s read your idea of a fairy tale;
Gossip has made it a bestseller.
Endless betrayal and social humiliation.
We gave you countless chances because we had no other choice.
It’s quite satirical that you even had kids.

Lucky for you and lucky for her,
Your youngest is able to forgive.
But me – I lost all respect for you on the first page,
In the prologue, even.
And the tale doesn’t seem to have an end.

I Could Write You A Poem, But I’m Not That Type of Girl

I could ask you if you’re tired
From running through my mind
Or say your lips look lonely
And that they should meet mine
I could pretend to need a band-aid
For my scraped knee from falling for you
I could invent a hypothetical garden
Where I’d put your tulips next to my two
I could call you an alien
Because you abducted my heart
Or accuse you of being a thief
For stealing the very same part
I could pretend to be a librarian
For an excuse to check you out
I could do any of these things
But that’s not what I’m all about
I could tell you that you’re perfect
That you must be Mr. Right
I could even write you a poem,
But I’m really just not the type.