Pseudopsychosis.

My black heart, you disappointment
even my ghosts know that;
but the eyes I came back to
would not know this,

even death betrays a snow flower
I mistook it as a calling
like the bluebird I suffocate
I want to gift you my absence 
as it’s better than my presence my 
roots collapse in white moonrise; 
the rose bush is axed
kneeled onto someone’s knee

As my heart whores 
for her own blood
it’s mechanized at this point

no, I shouldn’t think this way but I can’t (look), 
only unshackle from Alice’s bridge
	walking into the godhood of the sun
with its vultures withstood;

(before) I was age fifteen
I drove myself insane;

my bugged eyes hugged conch shores
once, before being still;

a game of chess with my mom at eighteen
when I wanted to go to bed so badly
at three in the morning somehow made me feel better;
(you) never know 
how it’s these things that keep you alive.

Almost twenty and I thought 
I found some white in my hair
how unsurprising;
I (leap), I thought wasn’t it spring 
that sold my uncle’s death;
I didn’t understand it then, but I miss him now
beside the empty photographs
as a child, I always
thought he and grandpa looked alike, 
despite not being related.

I just lament my fuchsias
when death comes during ides,
and keep breathing.

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Written for the 7/27/2021 dVerse prompt.

Sometimes, I like to share the music inspirations behind my poems and this one was “Poison Heart (Tripped Mix)” by Depeche Mode. The dark synths and bass just do it for me.