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. © 2021 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.
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.