still a writer just|
oiseaux oedipaemiadon't open your eyes, okay?oiseaux oedipaemia by silklilies
this is the difference between sick and saved.
the walls are pearled, and i am one shade of white,
wearing scarves made of washcloth and paper.
my eyelids are tiny butterflies,
quick, pale, and new. i see things
that evaporate as soon as i recognise them:
jaguars prowling from the depths of the water,
climbing from the drain with dripping pelts.
their spines ripple,
shoulderblades sinking and rising
like gentle breath, like sad sunsets.
when they look to me, i become one of them,
i breathe in as they do, taking in a breath laden
with a peculiar guilt that threatens to never leave.
they look at me, and their eyes catch my skin on fire.
i watch as they evanesce, swift and quiet, taking my heart with them.
words have gone stale in me and the taste
is never leaving my mouth.
the cadence of nightmares goes as steady
as the slow ruptu