Everything hurtling by
And yet so still
Everything hurtling by
Breathe—we will
Brace for
Impact
Ringing, ringing in our ears
Quiet quiet sirens
Someone screaming
From my throat

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@saintsandreason
Everything hurtling by
And yet so still
Everything hurtling by
Breathe—we will
Brace for
Impact
Ringing, ringing in our ears
Quiet quiet sirens
Someone screaming
From my throat

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All Welcome
Go on, dip your toes in
The slimy rocks of the icy cold
river, flowing and spilling like you into
this quaint township
Bony arms spread in welcome
Go on, dip your toes in
Sure, look how lively she is
She and her people
With their big jovial mouths
Soft, kind murmurs of disrespect
Come and join us in my endeavours
and don’t be late!
A house snarling, in it
Every object is a weapon
Every word poisoned
Take flight, or play hideys
Inside the bomb shelter
Where it's dark and the world is muffled
She'll scream and make you come out
She'll hit and scratch and scream
A creature so wounded she must burn you to keep herself alive
It's not a violet house, it's a violet home
And I don't want that for you
Fine hair between fat fists
Pull, hit, screech
My feelings are so real to me
I'd like them to be real to you too
Long stick in my fat hands
Beat, pinch, scratch
Your pain frightens the shit out of me
Upset, can you know please that I am
Her ears stand at attention
Her hair grows into other dimensions
She reads the sign above her bed
'AWARE OF DOG'
Please notice me :(
A growl and a whimper
Back to the depths of my arse I go
I'll notice me if no one else will

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Shift in Normalcy
A thief in his youth
Wise at the mouth
of a dry-eyed mother scorned
For her lack of mourning
Flesh barely clinging to stiff lips
Should you dare to ask,
dare you, dare you ask?
Then ask boldly and broadly,
With your poor-and-wanting, fat-but-empty gut:
Who shall they be when the sun returns
To yours, theirs or no land at all,
Be it wont to oblige us—no—
even scorch us again?
Lullaby for My Love
My lover, she hung dear
By claw, by desperation and tooth
Had I not advised her
Oh, had I not
I might've saved my lover-bye
And so swam she in a slumber
The scent of summer berries lapping at her skin
Like knives to overripe fruit
Teeth to bone
Soundless, so soundly, soundly, sound
Our Gary
There once was a wee purple fella Who to Tenerife went, he’d tell ya
For a month and a day He trod on beaches so gay
And returned to Scottish sea Pale as over-steeped tea
No Mourning Like This One
Sandy inspected her fingers thoroughly. The skin, chewed raw, was stained with dye from the day before. The typing in the background made itself quite apparent as Louise sighed in Sandy’s direction.
“Are you just going to sit there all day?”
“No.”
Sandy stood up and moved to the sofa across the sitting room. She chewed on the stained skin.
“Maybe if you stop breathing so fucking loud, Louise.”
Louise matched her tone perfectly. “Maybe if you get over yourself, Sandy.”
“My brother just died.” Pause. “Louise.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Louise plopped herself next to Sandy.
“How did you find out?”
“The guards.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.”
They sat in silence. Sandy’s fingers were pink with irritation. She didn’t give a fuck about Donal while he was alive. It was more than that, even—she fucking hated Donal. Every time they spoke she’d wish he were dead, and now he was.
“Pints?”
“Pints.”
Cocoon
Here I stand
As the day I was born
Soil cracking and crumbling beneath
Strong heels, good ankles
And who would have known
That I’d return under this star?

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Morning Shadow
Pink rosettes on gold, a frame
The subject: serenity and her wings,
Not earned but spent:
In fulfillment more than exhaustion,
Late afternoon sighs and oh me, oh my
She’s gone and spilled it all again
I’m Class
Watching these thoughts, like
Smoke swelling, rising into the stratosphere
Puffing like I’d just come first in the race
Cheered on by the back seat
How’s it going, me? Well, it’s going.
And my only weakness was life
Sixty-Six Sons and One
Thy Kingdumb come
Thy Will be done for
In its last make-up fucking
For what it lacks in stillness and thought
A crescendo, a crescendo of
Debriding festering fornication
In embers you go, fat little butcher
In embers you go.
Blessed Be He Who Is
Speak, if you'd like
Of the old God of the forest
His darting eyes and moss
All antlers and branches
Cer: His spirit and body
Hooves blending in the ground, soundless
Swift, flanked by trees and their voices
Older than our stories, older than our songs
Save Your Cutscenes (OK Sufjan)
Did that thought hurt as it passed?
I stopped to hear your story told
But checked my inventory and found
I can't afford to pay attention
So save me your dead, tavern man
And I'll return your stupid child

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St. Michael the Archangel
The last of the blackberries to be picked
Trickle sweet from soft
Lobes upon lobes, and can we really trust
The pair of us to assemble a brain?
Henceforth, the devil spat,
No more blackberries shall we pick
No more until the next Samhradh
Music Box
I carry it in my chest:
a vial that follows me all day
the sighs and gurgles
of purple pebble potion
and periwinkle dew
Light-mites flutter and dart
on their tiny padded feet
as you sail the oceans above