the vibration of my body moves me into scarcity
until I am waiting till I lie with open eyes
seeping into the holes of my bed
as if I cannot escape this way
this way being the only way
body uncanny
moonlit and tilted
filled with the most disturbed
the claws are not mine only this body and this body being
the center of attention
in this room
unflavored breath shaking my position
curled me like lashes
into this room
disposition dark and sparred
put me on invisible toilet seats and tell me in no better way I’ve been hiding my deep shit
in the real life
put me in the audience
put me in that room
just take me out of the holes
About the Creator
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More stories from Mylena Rodriguez and writers in Poets and other communities.
Winter Up High
Upon the North, where winter holds its sway, The frigid nights descend with solemn grace, A silent, diamond dust along the way, And moonbeams carve the shadows of the place. The wind, a ghost that whispers through the pines, Doth chill the very breath that leaves the lip, The ground is bound by frosted, silver lines, And stars, like scattered jewels, their vigil keep. The long dark hours demand a sheltered rest, Where firelight dances on the hearth's warm stones, And weary souls are welcomed to the nest, To chase the biting cold from blood and bones. Yet in this chill, a stark, pure beauty lies, Reflected in the vast and endless skies.
By Vinn Black2 days ago in Poets
Rachel Reviews: The Spiral Archive by Pieter Hendrik
It's difficult for me to know where to start with a review of this book as it was, for me, an entirely unique experience and one that I'll probably never have again. I don't want that to be interpreted as unenjoyable but it has left me scratching my head a little and ruminating on its content, its themes and its characters.
By Rachel Deeming5 days ago in BookClub
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