Madison Julius Cawein, “November”

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Madison Julius Cawein, “November”

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caked with blood
her fingers understand
the poetry scribed upon
frigid flesh and the
ruin some touches leave
I bury my feelings
in storm-dark hollows
seal them with fire and bone
and now
when a smile
dares to haunt my lips
it is nothing but
a garden
grown upon a grave
I slip the tether
and wander the ether
satin breath
against onyx clouds
becoming ghosts
we sway there
slow, melancholic
a lilac evening
inside my ribs
where the bruise
of you still flowers
into english gardens
I showed him my darkness;
the violent undertow,
the salt rot that
coiled in my ribs
yet he looked at me
like I was all tide-light
and distant horizons
like I slept beneath
storm-scented waters
and let the moon
gather my grief
in her silvery waves

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they injected me with mental illness when i was a baby because they didn't like that i radiated moonlight and had stars inside my eyes. they were jealous of me.
we all have one foot in a fairytale, and the other in the abyss.
Ana Božičević, from Rise in the Fall; “Anxiety of Influence”
Ingeborg Bachmann, from "Eyes to Wonder" in Three Paths to the Lake
Rainer Maria Rilke, transl. by Edward Snow, from a poem titled "Earth, Isn't This What You Want," featured in The Duino Elegies

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bleating heart led to slaughter
white-throated and trembling
beneath iron-scented storms
always trying to hold on
to the beautiful things
that are not forever;
not meant to stay, but to
provide peace
deliver hope
inspire souls and hearts
back to life
back to softness
she watches
the world pass
from inside
her glass heart
“If you had touched me any softer, my spirit would have had to lift to meet your fingers.”
— Helaena C Moon
f a u x t o g r a p h i c

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pretend
that we’re
dead
anxiety like
a rusty saw
blade shaving
thin ribbons
of hope, and
long after the
cutting, the
amaranthine
ache remains