Entomology
Last night, my stomach ascended my throat and crawled out of my mouth, splaying itself on the floor as a grotesque butterfly pinned down under a harsh light. And there were butterflies, but they were broken. They were blue like sapphires and red like a first kiss, but their wings were crooked and frayed. They slowly spilled out of my stomach like strangers with tousled hair and twisted spines shuffling out of unfamiliar houses at sunrise. But there are no more sunrises here—only constant twilight. Who would’ve thought that lips on lips could break me down to flesh and bone? Now my skull is filled with buzzing—buzzing—buzzing. Someone quiet the hive because the comb never had honey in it anyway. Let the beekeeper breathe his noxious cloud into my lungs so that I may find peace in a deep slumber, with sod as my blanket and bedrock as my pillow.
Mind Magic
"The mind is a wand" he said
"What is thy favorite spell?" he said.
Inside laughter, he spoke.
I'm all alone, he left.
The enjoyment he gets by twisting my mind.
By twisting my wand.
By leaving me all alone.
Leaving me open to my sorcery.
I am yet to master my mind,
It is more like my wand is my master.
Enchanting me with worries
Enchanting me with fears
Casting upon me nightmares
Commanding me to shed tears.
But yet with some mind magic,
I can control.
And my favorite spell
is imagination.
Closing your eyes and feeling the wind on your face.
Suddenly you are on a boat
The wind is accompanied by roar of the waves.
And you can almost smell the salt of the sea.
Day dreaming about that one day
That one day
That makes it all worth it.
Imagination.
The spell that goes beyond all others.
