to be

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i am corpse

i was born a corpse

there is nothing to be but.

 

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safer to swim

worldatlas1803

 

do you feel misguided because you’re the one steering the ship?

fog racing on the back of wind, a faulty needle pointing at nothing

and everything all at once.

long rough hair whipping against your skin, sensitized by the cold,

eyeballs watering, sores bleeding, back crimpling, folding like paper.

you hear the voice of someone asking for security

and the first instinct is to push that voice over board.

it would be safer to swim in the unknown ocean than lose yourself on an unnamed ship.

made of fear

 

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her grey hair lifts from where it spreads across the pillow,

she wakes in a sweat.

she believes in her dreams,

paying close attention to the man wielding the axe,

made of wisps, made of fear.

she moves to stand up.

surrendering to her will, surrendering his axe,

the man lies down on her mattress, engulfed in her scent,

dreaming of ashen tresses,

and of slender arms lifting a glistening axe.

 

it’s colder now

the vision 1880 unknown photographer

 

this house does not creak,

it’s too brand new.

nothing settles at night.

the ghosts of our pasts

stampede in silence

skirting past lamps and vases,

cautious around the cat.

the season has changed,

it’s colder now

and the tree may come out soon.

joy will have come and gone,

no one will have noticed,

for the eeriness

dampening all sound.