im doin this now. sorry to everyone who followed me for art in the next month

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im doin this now. sorry to everyone who followed me for art in the next month
In a pond, a reflection mocks me, placing me in a triangle of trickery. Like a cumulus cloud, pressure deceives into letting me down in soapy foam. The susurrus of a zephyr doesn't chill me with its wretched thoughts; instead, I find a bubble floating towards Shangri-la. Life is a pomegranate unveiling its flesh; but I do a tango with clumsy feet, tempting the devil himself-- a perfect concoction of various storms and saints. --Elda Mengisto
Path 10/3/23 (Poetober)
The moss reached up
cradling my bare feet
Lurching forward as I trudged along
Not quite softening the blow
but not quite letting me feel
the gravel between my toes
The ferns waved and giggled
Fanning me in their frills
Just like they did
In the cretaceous era
And 1673
And last tuesday
Maybe the moss and the ferns
And the ancient riverbed
I washed my feet in
Think me someone else
Think me an old friend
an old face
with an old name
And maybe I am
Do they wonder
how I’ve changed
Who else walked this path
before me
Who else never
bothered with Their names
You drink the poison
Of your sins and scream
Till the voice within dies out,
Guilt reaching above
Till you choke
And find nothing to resuscitate you
All around,
Where are the gods you wonder
Did they left sometime when you grew up,
It's impossible to remember
But now all that's available
Is your razor sharp tongue
And a cavernous maw
That feels as if there's someone else
A haunting that doesn't ends,
Memories of a bygone subtle magic
Ring somewhere in the distance,
But the overgrown cemetery
Of your faded vigour
Makes it difficult to comprehend
If something is sonorous,
And the place which
You once inhabited.
I saw him there out the corner of my eye A phantom a vision a little bit of my imagination A ghost a wisp a figment oh much too shy Something glaring out at me from Hell’s damnation
He stood there in the doorway Leading deep into the mausoleum Crumbling marble amongst which demons play He stood as still as a statue in a museum
I reached out my hand and touched his face He startled staring at me shocked floating vapor Grabbing me he pulled me into an embrace And with a great shuddering sigh he was no more
_____________
[Inspired by @goneahead's Poetober Prompt List: Day 12 - Crumbling Mausoleum]
I’m a fetish and a death threat rolled up into one neat little faggot.
Words in autumn fall like withered blossoms Constant application for some Reliant bug for others Itched by multiple flowers Eating the last piece of art Reading the beginning of a new tart Riddle Kuddle Riding a new season for emotion In a letter made like a stop motion
Bed Bug
i want to sink into my mattress
and rest in its stomach
let me stay there
dont make me get up
these legs carry me through the day
unconscious
i answer questions:
when is it due
where is your work
why is it late
what do you need
what do you want
"to feel awake when my eyes are open"
to trade my dark circles for sweet dreams
to not have the world wring me dry
and hang me outside to bleach in the sun
i drag myself through everyday
and lose myself every night
longing for peace
seeking the day when i can finally
sleep
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Prompt from Weekly Poetry Challenge: write a poem with a quote in it
credits for line 13 go to Maggie Stievater
Poetober Day 21: Sleep