by ~Sasukesadork
I’ve concluded
That terrible things are what force us.
Apart.
Together.
We sit
So still, without
Changing, almost
Hiding in the
Glowing folds of our own
Skin, shrinking
Into our bones, fearing.
Then when bodies hit pavement
We sigh.
In relief.
Necessarily we sigh.
Some of us stare around wondering
If others saw, or
Hoping they saw, and then we are
Congratulatorily drawn
To each other.
We hope to catch luck
From each other, the luck
Of standing.
Of living.
Of
Not being next.
As if
Your need will be the strings
That keep me where I am.
That stop me from
Hitting the pavement and sticking
In the tar.
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by ~Sasukesadork
Closed eyes and
Butterflies, soft as moths and
Soft like a shiver in
Tiny colored zephyrs,
Smelling each sweetly
Of nectar.
Closed eyes and one of them
Speaks to me.
Pastel orange and sugar dust
As the words wash the air over my tongue.
Three simple words spoken, making
The wind fall dead from the air,
Each color decaying, leaving nothing but
Thick haze pressing against me
Where the sweet butterfly once held.
I wanted to call to it-
Please- Please
-come back!
But the fibrous waste stuck in my throat.
It stuck in my nose and ears,
And Eyes.
I couldn’t see anything at all.
It stuck in my blood and soon
I couldn’t move.
Three simple words spoken, making
The wind fall dead from the air,
Each color decaying, leaving nothing but
Thick haze pressing against me
Where the sweet butterfly once held.
I wanted to call to it-
Please- Please
-come back!
But the fibrous waste stuck in my throat.
It stuck in my nose and ears,
And Eyes.
I couldn’t see anything at all.
It stuck in my blood and soon
I couldn’t move.
That wind was so fragile, I thought,
Unmoving on the pavement behind the mines.
It spoke in simple whispers,
It’s own existence an event to rejoice.
It said, Open Your Eyes.
Fragile, I thought, but
That butterfly would not create a wind
So furious it would
tear apart its own wings.
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by ~Sasukesadork
Sliding bookshelves- but I
Got them confused, leaned
Leftways and almost toppled- the floor almost moving
Beneath my feet.
Staring at a betta, pretty shiny teal and red,
It swims and rocks
The bowl it’s in, scattering
Blue glass marbles.
Dizzy dreaming,
The water drained out and it died
Pressed between the pages of a book.
Little Fish Bones same as
Typography
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by ~Sasukesadork
Kind Religion
Teaches me:
Have Faith In People
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by ~Sasukesadork
The magnetic pull of
The electricity in your brain
Fucks with my morality
Twists things that shouldn’t be
Twisted makes me want to
Live again.
But my face creases with
Ugly weight, lips curling
Down under all the words balancing there and
Apathy.
Sometimes
Music
Is the only thing that will bring me to tears.
Poetry
And Science and
Corruption keep me moving.
But everything turns 2D on bad nights
Pressed against the curvature of my eye
Like paint
On canvas
And it’s all so close
And it’s the only thing that’s real, nosing
Under my eyelids
And
It’s
Suffocating.
Reality becomes
A papier-mâché coffin
Around my brain in
My head, opaque to electricity
And blank and
Colorless.
Eigengrau is better and
I wonder if dying has a color.
If dying is 2D and
Weighted.
If dying presses against you like some
Massive and preposterous lover.
If it breathes.
If it ever truly fills its lungs like when
I can’t seem to fill my lungs
On shaking days of
Bitter cold and biting air when I’m
Outside digesting
The same things again
Again
Again
Again
Again
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by ~Sasukesadork
When you don’t know if you like
the boy but you catch him
looking at you from
across the room
you could pretend you don’t notice.
But there are more
methodical approaches to
the unsure time between
when you see him for the first time and
when you decide you want him kissing you
or not kissing you.
There’s always
looking back and
catching his eye for a minute, a
silent acknowledgement that you
see him, notice
he’s there You could
laugh at his jokes or
wait for him to hang around waiting for you or wait for him
to ask for your number.
You could ask him for his number.
You could wait around for him when he kind of looks like
he wants to wait for you but doesn’t want to
interrupt the conversation you’re having or bother you or
come off as a creep or too obvious.
If you decide too soon that he’s
not quite right, it was
just a discreet friendly gesture and not
hands and eyes and whispered words
that broke his heart.
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by ~Sasukesadork
I used to think that zen was in the photographs,
beautiful, floral, engaging and
balanced.
Still.
Quiet.
Now I know nothing of zen.
Looking out the window after a cup of tea,
I see the brown flowers left out after
a soggy December.
There now, I see something like I saw in those photographs,
Quiet.
Still.
Beautiful.
Something difficult to catch on film.
I’ve found something like what I saw in those photographs
in the dead remainder of garden and I think
if ever I were to meet the photographers
I would find nothing of the sort in their cameras, and much
in them.
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