#letsescapril

[verdant-lobotany]

The Problem Of Death

The problem with death? Well first there's the children Wailing which keeps you awake through the night Then there's the cost Half a dollar per bullet Which stacks goddamn quick when they put up a fight Or driving them off When they come to seek refuge With some luck the sea solves your problem With depth If not then there's bodies And you must dispose them Scout the whole shoreline cross all of its breadth But fuck it. You gotta. You don't want some journo To give all those corpses a face Make them mother or father To some little orphan Once trusting in God and His grace Of course there's still stories But make sure they're abstract An us versus them Or unfortunately cost To the lives of some strangers Far off and unlike us You wouldn't have noticed were lost So yes there's some issues Some snags in the system The people get queasy 'round blood So keep them far off With us now are the profits And after us, always, the flood

[alixx-black]

Terminal (12): Oh, the light!

TERIMINAL: Oh, the light! - Chapter 12 of an #epicpoem inspired by #escapril2024 prompts telling the story of a six-year-old with #childhoodcancer

An epic poem inspired by Espcaril 2024’s prompts. First, there is a buzzing, like a bug in Aviana’s ear, or a tiny hummingbird zooming by, and it is so loud and quiet at the same time that she can barely process that it isn’t real and that nobody else is hearing it; Second, there is helium in her veins, or at least it feels like it because she is absolutely certain that she is starting to…

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[lessdepth]

day 2 of escapril: EAVESDROP

may god look in our open window / kissing that girl / liquid fire in my belly / drinking smiles / naked embrace no blushing / not sacred though delicious

[llamentforicarus]

3 de abril / escapril 2024, día tres: contacto visual (poem in spanish, this time)

[greekgodoftragedy]

second day of escapril

day 2: the exact middle

[mcigs]

- ego

soy soy mis pies ásperos que caminan tanto soy mi odio y mi amor por mis pechos, en ese orden soy la bonita línea de mis hombros y mi cara soy mi espalda flexible soy mis brazos delgados y mis piernas todavía grandes soy el número en la balanza soy mis manos con las que canto soy mi música y mi arte, que es más grande que mis palabras soy mis palabras soy la euforia de crear soy mi impotencia, mi frustración, mi ira profunda soy los moretones en mis piernas soy el inmensurable amor que siento a veces y no quiero dejar morir soy la indiferencia que a veces lo deja morir soy mis ojos hinchados de llorar y arrugados de reír soy el inmenso vacío que siento y no sé cómo llenar soy yo misma en la persona que quiero que lo llene soy mi tristeza, soy radiante soy adicta, obsesiva, soy lenta soy el miedo que me paraliza soy el valor que me mueve soy mis hermanos y cómo los amo soy mis padres en todo lo que hago soy mirar por la ventana soy mi abuela en mi tristeza y quizás en mi fuerza soy mis amigos y cómo los amo soy mis amantes y lo que he encontrado de mí en ellos soy el caminar con alguien al amanecer soy el hacerlo sola y escuchar el viento y mis pasos y los árboles y mis latidos soy el silencio y mi silencio soy el decir lo que importa soy los mil colores que nadie ve soy el gris que me nubla la vista soy mi soledad soy rara, complicada, nunca alguien con quien quedarse soy sencilla, fácil de amar soy práctica, soy emocional soy mi mirada profunda soy sexual, soy sensual soy inocente, ignorante soy deseo, ardor, pasión soy invisible soy inadecuada soy bienvenida soy amada soy una molestia soy insuficiente soy grandísima, lo abarco todo soy insignificante, dispensable soy infinita, inefable soy efímera soy hasta que ya no sea más

[boysaints]

modern medusa

every picture you’ve seen of medusa looks the same:

empty socket eyes, black hole mouth,

hair a ragged nest of grass snakes.

you’ve always wondered:

what it would be like

to be under her thrall:

eyes fixated on hers, unable to look away

(of course you don’t know it,

but you’ve always imagined them to be green,

like the plants growing on your windowsill.)

perseus defanged the beast,

severed her head and held it up,

a trophy for everyone to admire.

(you’ve always imagined that empty mouth

would be filled with regrets:

wasn’t i beautiful?

wasn’t i young and full of life?

now see what’s become of me--

men avert their eyes

and praise the boy who slew me.)

it was never your fault,

you want to whisper to the statue,

you were just the scapegoat in their terrible game.

(the statue’s mouth is open so wide

you think it might swallow you whole.)

modern medusa flicks cigarette ash to the ground,

runs a hand through her writhing curls, says,

perseus never killed me,

only thought he did.

it’s a shame, really--

the boy was so easy to fool.

-L.R.

escapril day 26: serpentine

[lyraecal]

9. Paradox - for the boy who lived for the sun and died by the waves