݁˖Vivie

poorly cropped because i’m ashamed i spelt safety wrong… somehow???

here’s the full thing…ignore it…pleas…e..sob….

He/You

Pull me under so that I may breathe your soul and drown in what’s left of us

Tear into me so that I may understand truly

the love you’ve held for me

Paint your walls with my color, for you have not left me since the day I left you

I see you in a mind that cannot see, in picture-less films we call dreams 

This isn’t about you, it’s about me.

It’s about me and a you that is better than what you have and what you were

Because this you was never you to begin with 

His face is sweeter and well defined, soft and quiet; much more kind

He’s not even you to think of it, but he’s not even real, so only I will think of it

It being a man with no face to replace a boy in such a space to have his face disgraced 

All to be encased, in a place like space: within my own face.

———————————————————————

Leopard Prints

i catch a glimpse of myself in a through my mirror’s reflection 

a clone, brittle and cicatriz patterns like a leopard

in a way it could be beautiful, but of course, there’s got to be correction;

why, my patterns aren’t as beautiful, but i can’t be rid of them 

a vessel i so desperately need to fix, i cannot live with this obsolete perfection

because there’s a cause, to everything, forever, and it’s never my favorite 

to reflect on a reflection, to savor it

i wish to throw a stone to destroy and forget about it

why, these leopard prints could look like handprints

why, this body is so strange and pernicious.

why, i can’t take that next step, and run away to my own jungle, 

why i am stuck in this bathroom, waiting for my shower to warm up.

why, it hurts to reflect.

why, i have these leopard prints.

———————————————————————

Little Yellow Bird

A little yellow angel;

You wheel around my coffin

Knowing damn well 

That we’ll be sharing it. I’ll go silent for death

By the time I’m done

But, It’s probably too late

So, try to think for yourself:

Did you kiss your wife,

and daughter goodbye?

Will your name be chiseled in stone? Is the money you’re mining worth it?

Or is all this coal just a joke?

Are you choking on your air? 

Will the pigs squeal when they find out?

Can you see where you are?

Or will they waddle their feet and laugh?

A little yellow knight;

Disposable life lies in my claws.

Soot-covered soldiers,

Descending into their war. 

(it’s a losing battle)

A death sentence disguised as work;

You could call it hell.

But this is your job.

And this is your earth.

I’ll flap my wings,

Pretend something's wrong,

Havoc aroused,

scrambling, tumbling, screaming 

Or I could act like i’m fine

Push through to sing;

A silence as loud as death

screaming into nothingness.

A little yellow martyr;

Neither rebel, nor revolution.

Simply a messenger,

To preach about the wrong 

Of your ‘human’ ways.

You and your men are tired,

Rest, but don’t get fired.

Your pain is only temporary;

The infirmary is full again, sir. 

Come again later?

Whose the pig in the fine white satin?

You look up to him, don’t you?

Does he know your name? Do you his?

How much money does he make? Is he married? Is he decent?

He’ll sit high in his empty palace,

While you rot, just because you live.

A little yellow death,

That means danger,

Am I correct?

And when that danger comes.

You’ve gotta run.

But, it’s getting cold, isn't it?

When they set me free,

I’ll sing outside,

Watch you work, watch you die.

Then soon they’d set me free

And let me be

And see how great it is to be free.

How easier it is to be me.

How you’ll never really know,

what it’s like to be me.

———————————————————————

Hunt

Broken. 

Impaled by lead, 

Shot from guns.

Chased by dogs,

Who tear at our legs.

With what remains, 

Is thrown to wolves. 

Who tear us apart,

And eat at our rot.

Self-proclaimed hunter,

Should we even call you that

You don’t even want us,

You just want to hunt us.

We serve no other purpose,

Than to breed.

To consume. 

To feed. 

To die. 

So we hang up on your walls,

Where you can point and laugh,

And gawk and boast.

Our skin is worn, 

Our branches are trophies, 

Our flesh is wasted.

Our bodies are toys.

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

You’re killing for the thrill.

For sport we are game,

For the pleasure of man,

To trap and snare,

From fawn to buck.

when we’re all dead,

who will be the one 

to bring you fun;

cause hunts not the same

without the deer.

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

We are dead to be dead,

We are dying just to die,

We are broken for your fun.

We serve no other purpose,

Than to breed.

To consume. To feed.

To die. 

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

You’re killing just to kill.

———————————————————————

i know my work is kind of hard to read sometimes, it’s all edgy and nonsensical to some, but i like to share my work. thank you.