Poetry: Jack Faery

The neon pink hand beckons the night

as the clock sways to midnight blue.

His time has come to assume a disguise, puckering cherry

lips and setting the wig on his head. Glitter

dances across the golden ringlets, velvet

hugs his silicone bosom like a faery.

Jack piles more makeup on his face, with faery

eyes that shimmers night,

he grabs his red velvet

bag as he closes the door to the blue

feelings that he’s left inside. For the glitter

emotions dipped in cherry

wine and spread across pallid thighs, convert to cherry

cream resting on ethereal faery

wings that covet glitter

dreams of passionate nights

spent in burning bliss. The blue

tears no longer dripping on the velvet.

Drinking champagne from cupped hands, velvet

scarves pin his lover to the cherry

bed, until he begs for more. The blue

emotions disappear like unchained faeries.

Flying into the lusty night

dusting his lover’s eyes with Star Dust glitter.

Sensuous fingers trace over glittered

flesh, pouring scalding wax from velvet

candles. His lover whimpers into the night

as Jack toys with a candied cherry.

He now has the power of faeries

to kiss away the broken blues.

The clock has struck. It’s time for the blue

veils to fall upon the glittered

fantasies of his soul, his faery

wings have been singed, his red velvet

bag carries the remains of his cherry

pits, to remind him of sadistic nights.

The hour has come to assume the blue disguise until tomorrow night

When he can douse himself with glitter, fill his palms with cherries,

And transform into a lovely faery that whispers poetry in ears like velvet.

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Poetry: Suture

My blistered fingers tremble

They cannot cling to your adulterous flesh.

Death is my coveted cradle.

While Hades sings to me my lullaby.

I spend the night stitching with black thread

I stitch my severed limbs together.

I try to revive my dead skin

The smell of burning corpses

Makes me feel intoxicated.

There’s nothing left here

Only filth and grime.

All the putrid life of the Tiber nourishes me.

Broken shadows from my past invade my dark dreams.

I fall inside the mouth of Hell

Crossing the river Styx with my sentinel.

None of this would’ve befallen me

If you hadn’t plucked my blinded eyes.

If you hadn’t polarized my mind.

If you hadn’t crucified my heart.

Now that I’m at the stake

The flames closing in to devour me.

I wonder if you consider your cruel act a mistake

Or did you murder me in your heart long before?

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Poetry: Manuel’s Letter

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Dear Manuel,

Here I must confess

All that I’ve ever desired to.

My emotional state is one turmoil mess.

I’m in a state of confusion,

That I don’t even know with whom I mesh.

I keep on falling behind

With no chances to run and hide.

My dreams of glory fog my mind

But to my disgrace,

I’m only a legend in my own mind.

I long for purity but I practice sex.

I crave for love but it’s lust that I get.

Not caring for myself.

But yet I’m said to have a narcissistic disorder.

Conventional beauty wrapped

Around an anti-conformist mind.

Confusion-confusion-confusion

I kiss so many but love no one.

The ones that are closest to me

Are the ones that hurt me the most.

The ones that are the farthest from me

Are the ones that I yearn for their attention.

Sorry, for my lament

I wouldn’t have confessed my sins

If I wouldn’t feel that you’re the other side of me.

You’re my secret identity.

My mask—

I am hiding behind your grandeur.

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Poetry: Paper Monsters

A black Sicilian veil cloaks my ashen thoughts.

He tastes like half-eaten candies,

Licorice and cinnamon.

Cobblestone streets reflect minuscule paper monsters.

My heart is filled with a fiery lava, the kind that

Explodes from Etna in the sky at night.

I’ve been waiting for his return.

I’m afraid that soon the fire in my heart

Will fade and become an ice black.

Almond blossoms adorn my bed,

His last words echo in my brain and I writhe

Restlessly….

My body aches for his touch—

I just want to break a little….

I dream of becoming a tragic heroine

A Giovanni Verga character incarnate.

This is how you draw a broken heart:

Dip your fingers in blood and don’t

Hesitate to botch the final project.

His image hovers over me like

A storm cloud in April…

Ever present but translucent

As the flesh fades to cold coal.

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

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Poetry: California Wildfire

fire

Our first kiss was in the depths of a

Fetish Room

It was summer, the time of year

For love to blossom like wild daisies

We burned bright and dangerous

A forest fire gone rogue

Suddenly, I felt more daring

Not thinking about tomorrow

The killer of passion

All I wanted to think about

Was how your kisses

Ignited fireworks in me

Exploding into the brightest colors

Whenever we were in the same room

We transformed into a danger zone

Our flames devouring the walls

And although our hearts had

No fire escape to lead us out

We kept on playing Russian roulette

Loading our guns with six bullets

Because death by love

Was ultimately better than

A slow, tedious death.

***

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Celebrate National Poetry Month!

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Poetry: Bad Habit

I’m like a smoker

In need of a cigarette

I need you, even if

I know you’re detrimental

To my health

But the rush you give me

Is worth more

Than saving myself.

smoke

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Poetry: The Lessons We’re Taught

lavinia2

Men are taught to take what they please

Women are taught to relinquish their treasures with a smile.

It’s why women mistake brutality for love

And men believe a woman’s body is for them

to seize without consequences.

***

lavinia

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Poetry: The Way You Left Me

cry

I housed dreams in my heart

You used razor blades to tear them out.

Hope lingered on my lips

You bit down hard till they bled.

You left me bloody and empty.

In a world that wants us to be whole and pristine.

***

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Poetry: Kissing Asphalt

bloodstain

Photo courtesy of arhiva.dalje.com

The clouds are coming down low.

I don’t know where I’m going to go.

The rock star ran off with my soul.

He wants it because it makes him feel less alone.

I’m kissing asphalt tonight.

But I should be kissing you.

Why do you keep on stalking me?

Writing songs about me?

Phantom lover who adores to creep

And peers from afar when I weep,

Has come prepared to take me out

With only a simple stroke of his mouth.

I’m kissing asphalt tonight.

But I should be kissing you.

My blood’s all over the frigid sheets

Highway 95 has tasted my flesh.

I’m going down on you and I’m not coming (up)

My naked skin timidly peels,

As the wounds turn into scars unhealed.

I’m kissing asphalt tonight.

But I should be kissing you.

He spoke of love, passion, and soulmates.

Of easy girls that never cry.

But he never spoke of Zura,

The girl who almost died.

I’m kissing asphalt tonight.

But I should be kissing you.

I’m kissing asphalt tonight.

And it’s as bittersweet as you.

*

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