Scorpion"Show me your bones."More Like This
the atlas of her thighs quaked
as she misplaced her skin
in the backseat of his car.
"I'm a scorpion, you know-"
a messy promise
& she smirked,
sure of her limbs,
her scars, & her teeth.
"I dare you to stake claim to this clavicle."
ConstellationShe is dream dust,More Like This
too bitter or wise
for her own good.
A timeless dragon's soul
somewhere inside a
scaled shell, burning
the silence in her bones
alive, honeysuckle sweet.
She collects fireflies only to
set them free at 3am,
crying to an uncaring moon.
& she's begging for the stars
to take her away,
make this house a home
rigged in the sky.
She is already naked fever
swimming through the cosmos
& I orbit her.
Still Missing YouMore Like This
I thought I was past this,
That I was done feeling this way.
But why is it you that I still miss
And think about some days.
It appears you have moved on,
And I thought I did too.
I'm trying to be strong
And figure out what to do.
But I can't stop thinking about it,
Can't help but remember all the fun we had.
A possibility inside my mind has been lit,
And this idea has been driving me mad.
Could there still be a chance for us?
Could we start it up again?
I don't want to leave what we had in the dust,
So what does this mean for us then?
Maybe I should just come right out
And say what has been on my thoughts.
What happened has made me doubt
What I originally thought were my wants.
I miss you.
I miss us.
With these thoughts, I'm not sure what to do.
And I don't know who else to trust.
I can't just go up to my friends and say this,
What would they think about my choices now?
But I can't help what I feel and miss.
I'm still trying to figure out how!
I mean, how can this happen?
How can this
Post MortemI am a walking, talking universe of dead poetsMore Like This
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
BloodI've got a filthy mouth,More Like This
& a house of stars
thriving in my throat.
& I still have yet to tame
this grounded constellation
I call my temple. -Slithering
tongue hissing too many
"fuck you's" against my teeth.
I fear I will write myself hollow-
or until my bones are corroded away
& I am nothing-
an insignificant nebula
orbiting the wrong atmosphere.
But, my veins bleed sweet ichor,
& words are only words, Mother.
FreezeWe drink, as the crew celebrates our voyage home. We've done all the planned missions, and even ones improvised by the head scientists. I look over at you, sitting in the corner, watching everyone like a stoic guardian. The others are content to get hammered using the results of a DIY still but you remain silent, observing all. I come over, inviting you into the conversation, but you shake your head and continue your watch.More Like This
We ended up spending three years on Scruna. Three whole years of experiments, tests and theories. We had done our jobs, and done them well. The entire crew had done our species proud, and proved we earned all the fancy letters before our names.
The drinking continues, late into the night shift. Crew come and go as they prepare the ship for the deep sleep. Our home is currently 43 light years away, and the best way to get there is "Deep Sleep", a cryogenic freezer of sorts. Our ship is powered by a fusion core, so it'll run on automatic, controlled by a primitive AI.