Beautiful

I used to think the sun
tasted beautiful, but then
you told me that “beautiful”

can only be how something
looks and I couldn’t fathom
how beauty could be so

confined.

Not So Forlorn

I felt myself missing the nightmares,
missing the jagged edges I used to insert
into my waiting gullet. I hardly felt it.

I missed the cold. I missed the way
the air would become crystalline
before my eyes. I wondered if I could
grasp it in my gloved hands, just in case.

I missed the emptiness, the hollow sound
every step made against the pavement.
The echoes reverberated in my rib cage,
sending my heart stuttering through its beats.

I remembered the nightmares with startling clarity,
as if they had never left. I remembered that.

Now… now, I no longer just remember. I know,
and that knowledge fills the spaces between my
aching bones. It lends me oxygen, “just in case”.
My heart beats strong, in spite of its holes.
It dusts the cobwebs from my hope and
I know I’m not so forlorn after all.

Painted Faces on Parade

I am breathless with the effort of this masquerade.

I drink in the moon and hide from the sun,
pretending I never did need to breathe.

Death-masked daydreams skitter before reddened
eyelids, throwing a lavender fantasy into sharp relief.

I can bury myself in a sex-scented reverie, but
I’ll still be trying to burrow into the blackened earth. 

A pale kiss never could solidify this illusion.