reveries - poetry (do not post)

[consumptivefawn]

just sharing my work here:)

[consumptivefawn]

Rot blooming within veins in the way a spore will subterfuge
Ostentatious palisades wrought with the discernible guilt of an amateur thespian
Imbibing blood from hand // flesh branded with the characteristic lesions of a martyr
Covet time to quench a thirst festering into flame scorching bone, taut and pliant

[consumptivefawn]

Sunshine spilling onto the streets of tepid waters
A purgatory between two colliding ships
Halves of a fragmented mind in limbic duality
The skies will retreat into halcyon
Yesterday I jumped the boards; today I am a sailor

[consumptivefawn]

Ornery desire, on the cusp of what is ever so insatiably tangible: a dream of you and me, woe, the heart’s most tender delicacy, set to be eaten by the martyred morning’s long-awaited arrival

Bursting at the seams, I love you like a woman: subsequently, who am I but your man?

The irony of pavlovian discipline — to beat the weakness out of a dog, as if endurance will endow it with strength

From the marks on your shoulder to the livid bruises you leave upon my neck, the signing of a most merciful treatise, I revise you like a history book

If there’s anything more than a tongue shared between us, it is this vacancy in my chest, that wound of yours I seek to mend, an effort you admonish for its vanity

There is a succour in the futility of something unrequited, in the prowess of surrender, a treacle of devotion so sweet that I beg on disinfected knees to let it fester in my gums – the berries in the doe’s carcass are the closest thing to dessert the wolf will ever imbibe

And God forbid he dares to lick it off of knives when the memory of the sanguine spoon lay dormant beneath his snout

I will measure your worth by means of verbosity, and you will pinpoint mine in an examination of flesh: a thread tied tightly by the sinew stretched across my bones, stabbed through with needles in the shape of your extremities

How could you forgive me, for the failed serenade of a maudlin reverie? Your bed is a confessional, your hand a rosary – as for all we leave unsaid, the contents sway between notes of ransom and biddings farewell

[consumptivefawn]

Revolving and grotesque, shifting through paradigms of dismay
Hunched over in concrete galoshes, addictive shortcomings
Irony lacking in substance and satirized prejudice
Reduce yourself to a statistic dichotomized by crestfallen woe
Despise the perception, ponder the pattern
Everything is revealed yet nothing is denied; lethal contradictions
A humanist and a philistine, a nihilist and a charlatan Prosperity requires consumption and you refuse to eat
Is the wound auspicious to the tongue you gnaw when you forbid yourself from speech?
Juxtapose duality with stagnation through abhorred familiarity
Leave it unsaid just to say it all in spite
Sincerity sailing under false colors; their time in the sky forgone
Wasting away under the pretenses of time and feigned understanding
Is your name a somber echo of what once was, of vacancy and resentment?
Analytical prose from a forged degree
Beg to play the scholar while you clutch onto the jester's red right hand
With a vise grip and nothing to show for it

[consumptivefawn]

No other word makes my mouth so tender as your name: I speak it with the hushed elation of a child with a newfound cuss, something so arbitrary enveloped in a heavy coat of saccharine filth – as if I am not old enough to say it, yet I cannot help but scream it at the top of my lungs. I can take the thought of you and mold it into wedding-cake toppers to be enjoyed by the newly betrothed; I can take a dream of you and I and from it flows like cirrus clouds tendrils of a togetherness we’ll never see, a sojourn in a honeymoon suite wherein our lips will never meet; and I turn you into art, something you do not wish to be – I cannot prostrate myself before your altar, for all I wish to say to you is far too ugly to be uttered in the same tongue as prayer, and I cannot make you love me, and I cannot absolve my own guilt by tithing stolen banknotes; you are not mine, but you are mine to carry

[consumptivefawn]

born somewhere i will never belong
clawed out of an infected womb
still i am here here although my breaths are laboured
still i am here although my lungs are filled with water
still i am here although my heartbeat slows

the blood on my hands was painted upon them by an artist i cannot identify
i was golden for a moment but all lights do flicker
all knees must falter all that succeeds must succumb to failure
a criminal and a liar and a heretic a martyr and a masterplan
i didn’t read the foreword

my bedroom is an altar of miracles and it is also a cemetary
there is a confessional in my head in my vacant
ribs
no tithes have been collected save for my own penance
a hunger strike starved of cause

father will you tuck me in; mother will you tend to my wounds
sister will you smile for once would you smile? “i haven’t seen a rainbow in years”
the bottle the chalice the broadsword the hammering in my skull
i am my own ventriloquist, the puppet to words i never mean
two thousand years of chasing taking its toll, the irony of a rapture wherein the pious pay their penance
in the most divine of agonies, i exist, my father’s son, his mother’s daughter, the successor of failure, the composer of critical notices, another mark missed
following the foxtrot trail in the bleached snow, where the moon croons ballads of its bereaved lover
a complication of systemic circumstance; are you so powerless to change the tides upon which you tread?
i find that there is not a shoulder to weep on, only solemn tissues mourning obituaries of potential, a hearse with my name on it driven by the stone around my neck
and this is the sentence bestowed upon me by the courts: recuperating the one i could not save
with each laboured breath blooms a growing violet atop my ribs

[consumptivefawn]

A lamb is born consumptive; does ethos decree its slaughter an act of love, or an act of cruelty?
An inquiry pondered by the tender pacifist, the supplicant to the cruel mistress fate
Martyrs and misanthropes // you made me believe in war
Like befallen scriptures I transcribe you into the stars // January is frigid and austere but the moon is clear as distillate
There is a vacancy in my ventricle, a wound carved by the maw of a baying hound
It was fleshed out in the shape of your likeness and when you find yourself so bored as to dip into my daydreams I can only accredit it as the work of archaic sculptors
These days, I cannot pretend you were just some lover; you linger the way your lips do, an impression of the otherworldly // you are cold and I burn
You wished for a woman’s grace // but I am my father’s daughter, I can love you only like a man

[consumptivefawn]

half of my heart is stuck in elementary school, between fields of barley and lonely swing sets
l asked myself so often, why ostracism - even in its most juvenile stages, preyed on my precocity
the wound grew and festered; stil its rot nauseates me
you can find yourself a house but never a home

my mind never freed itself from middle school, between the ugliness of yearning and youthful awakenings
i asked myself so often, why beguilement - even in its most ambiguous curiosity, never belonged to me
the wound grew and festered, still its rot nauseates me
you can find yourself a friend but never a lover

this flesh of mine hopes only t0 forget high school, between guilty drunken sobs and glass-bottomed egos
i asked myself so often, why it was them and never me - even at my best i could only hope for my worst
the wound grew and festered; stil its rot nauseates me you can find yourself momentary bliss but never elongated catharsis

all flowers in time bend towards the sun, they say, so i kiss the moon goodbye and i draw circles on my own hands, praying at my own grave
I promise little me to never salt the wound again
you cannot find yourself a cure if you do not recognize the ailment

[consumptivefawn]

A body a beacon, scars from caustic rope shaped like stars: the protrusion of bone
// how its hegemony slowly rescinds
Shame sculpted by surplus flesh // reminders of your breathing pleads for your vessel's surrender to vacancy
You treat pain like a lover, reserve him a throne in your bed
Leave bite marks on his clavicle as he claws at your chest
His words a parasitic droning as if to part from your ears is foreign to his lips
It is tougher to hone in on tenderness than to keep yourself bound to acerbity // you base your consumption on what boasts the greatest virulence
Of time you are a glutton; what is ephemeral siphons from your veins like the leaking of a faucet
Were your capacity for satisfaction to grow the subsequent abhorrence would swallow you whole
There is no honour to be acquired from inertia // that ravenousness is the offspring of your starving heart more-so than your dilated gut