Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Shaking spears

break your light on my window

show me that hell is empty

even if the devils are here

watch static

with eyes closed and

black-and-white old films

about death-omens

and family vacations

to the middle east

you smile

and wince at the same time

in a room that was once vibrant

with laughter, red dresses, and sweet summerwine

and now I can’t tell if it’s dirt

or a shadow on your face

for hours the faces morphed into clouds

shepherds guided ghostly sheep on ancient paths

and i couldn't take my eyes off

anything at all

“you are not alone

even the most offensive shadow

was made by light,”

a voice suggested

and I laughed

“shadows don’t offend me,

only lampshades

that don’t do their job”

Saturday, August 6, 2016

That girl with blue fingernails

She always has the same look on her face,

and I distrusted her because of that.

It’s eerie.

But I guess most of the things she does are eerie,

so maybe it’s not her face’s fault.

She doodles on everything,

but draws the same exact picture

of a cat with a skull mask.

She balances on one foot

effortlessly like a bird,

weightless in the wind,

upheld by nothing but the stillness in the air.

She never raises the volume of her voice,

or even changes the pitch of it.


the rumor that goes around is that she’s a robot.

But I have a different idea:

I think she was born a girl,

and she slowly let herself become mechanical,

while the world replaced

her bones with steal,

her skin with a shell,

her heart with a watch

and her eyes with mirrors.

And then one day,

she painted her fingernails blue,

and shrugged

as the world told her it was too close to cobalt.