fireheart
don't play with fire they told him, taking the matches out of his hands
ignoring the heat of his skin, the angry scabs on his knuckles
don't you go making a mess more than you're worth
but there were embers in his eyes, dragon's lungs in his chest—more fire than any match could every create—
untouchable, inseparable
and they couldn't take those
so he learned to breath fire rather than light it
until it spilled out around him, crackling with the snap of his fists and the breaking of bones that followed
becoming bonfires that swallowed buildings thanks to the machinations of his thick, clever fingers
spreading from body to body with the echo of his guns, the points of his knives—
death, eater of worlds, held barely at bay by the bars of his ribs
and they would ask him, didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with fire
so he would smile around the orange and white of his cigarette
and let it fall
as if the flare of burn and light was answer enough
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arterial block
creativity is an infection
causing the coughing up of multicoloured blood
and a fever of fingers on pens, paper, ink, keys
creeping from the smears one's hands, lips, into bodies and minds
creativity is a beastly thing
prowling and gouging and hungry
demanding all the blood you'd love to bleed and yet can't
as if your skin has become iron
and those welcomed blows slide off like water
creativity would take your soul if it could
take every inch of your flesh and bone and muscle
take your heart and eyes and tongue
and most of all your brain
like they alone are enough to fill its void
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a robin
my ribs are a cage,
from which a bird sings
an endless stream
of melancholic tunes
its wings flutter and shake,
but have been curved and bent
by the confines of their prison
leaving it unable to fly
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banshee
i'm screaming—
throat dry, voice a felled pot—
and the sound reverberates through my skull,
replenishing itself like a fountain
i'm screaming
because every cell, every organelle
in my body is burning as you touch me,
as you destroy my sovereignty
as if i am your throne to take
i'm screaming
as if the gods, of any pantheon, would look down on my crumbling form
and return me from death to living soil
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natural selection
i do not belong to you
i am not your squirrel's trove of nuts,
buried for a time never to come—forgotten—
simply on the flight of your whim
for, if you bury me, expecting me to stay,
i will grow, not into a tree, but into something with spider's legs,
bearing shadows for teeth and loneliness for claws
because i am owned by no other than myself
and i will eat you whole before i let you collar me
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trowel
when prying flesh from bone,
there will always be blood,
that hot brand of your actions;
the life you dug into
no amount of dirt can bury the sins
of severed tendons and masticated muscle,
and all the fauna that grow from the horror
whisper the red reminder of your reaper scythe
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bird feeder
i dig canyons into my skin,
to watch my sweet life trail it's expanse,
leaving deep red footsteps across ivory
as it descends the mountain of my body,
reaching desperately for the leaf carpet at my foot
i am not the only hungry thing in these woods
but i am the kindest
for which i will not be the only one to eat tonight
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garden wall
if we could talk,
we lichen-dressed stones,
we could tell you tales
of life and death,
of nature and machination
all of which live within us
we have watched the world grow
and we will watch it die;
this beautiful morbid amalgamate
who gave us ageless life
if we had words to speak,
there would no longer be questions to be asked
for we've beheld the answers to them all
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morning dew
there is no greater loss than the dreams of the dead
passing from life, trapped in one's head
cradled in the thunderstorm of an empty skull
left untouched; voided; null
the pollen-potential of creation:
a thousand unsung ideations
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topiary
i wear a shell of aberrancy, spiked and clawed
hiding the garden in my chest, the metaphor that blooms there
i have shaped myself into a beast to protect my soft, pink insides:
that ecosystem of affluent ambition
and i will hold that forced form
for as long as it takes
to pour my blood into words
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rose bush
i am all sharp edges
and i draw blood
from myself, from others
cutting jagged scars as a way of greeting
so you'll never forget
that you should never touch my skin
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in bloom
flowers bloom inside my lungs;
bouquets of daffodils and wisteria,
threaded bunches of lilacs and rose
they are the only beauty ever granted unto me
and though they steal my breath,
growing gardens within my airways
i relish the life they bring to my bones, my corpse
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scarecrow
touch me, break me
pull me apart at the seams
crack open my ribs, lever out my guts
oh so carefully
disjoint my fingers, drink my blood like wine
make man into a monster,
reimagine this body that i don't see as mine
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belladonna
i grow my demons like flowers
and they flourish while i wither,
sucking up my life to bloom
but even i cannot deny they are horrifically beautiful,
these manifestations of my misery
and i will let them root into my heart
for they are a part of me,
paradoxically terrible and wonderful,
that i cannot live without
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wishing well
the water is dark, glittering with stars:
souls trapped, souls promised, exchanged for words
empty prayers, never fulfilled
the stones whisper, silver tongued lies of perfection;
a world crafted by your imagination,
hoping to blind you to the truth
the grass is alive, creeping around your ankles:
a silent snare, as if, in time, it will entice you
so you'll sell yourself to the dark gods below
it does not want your coins, your petty change
for there is only one paying currency for wishes
and it's the one thing you should never give
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atlantis
do you ever wonder what it would feel like,
to breath water instead of air
for fish and fauna to float through your lungs
taking root within the cave of your flesh
to be an ecosystem, self-contained;
more than humanity
made of myth, legend
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brush fire
we reach with grasping fists
tearing up the grass, the soil
stealing nutrients and life from the earth itself
as if it will fill the gaping wound we bear
as if the entire world would even be enough
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