heaven is frozen over.i swallowed the earth; let it stickin my throat, wondering ifcomets are the tears of stars -a lonely kind of beautiful. oh,the shadowed angel of my dreamsmust have stolen their griefand made it her halo,those stone lips coldbut perfect. like crueltywas not in her blood but washer blood and every time sharpasteroid edges cut her skin,she bled ice instead of liquid.i must have beenthe rings of Saturn,orbiting this resplendent beingof no kindness andno grace.(and the chill bites earthmaking the screams echo)
II.each of her scars isa crescent moonagain inked night;when she brushesfingertips over themwith ghostly touchesthe smile dropsfrom her cheeks likeAutumn giving wayinto Winter -i wish she could seehow beautiful hermusic is. her hands createsymphonies, weavingeach threaded notinto a tapestry ofrhapsodic storiesthat live in herheart and singlouder withevery new beat.
(un)stitching the fabric of the universe.i (un)flattenthe core of the universe;sew togetherbones of blackholes wondering whydeath always restsat odd anglesin the wayher paper lantern skinis stretched overmatchstick bones andfading intoan unhealthyglow. she picksat cross-stitchedhands nervously andstarvation's collarhangs on her neckbut she puts themetal fork downanyway without takinga bite because it hurtsless thanlooking at a paralleluniverse of herselfwhere nothing is everperfect.
.we sit side-by-side and i pour my dreamsdown the drain, one-by-one;you do not yet know i am theepitome of natural disaster andthat when you offer me soft wordswith gentle handsi will pick them apartmercilesslyin the dead of the nightandthrow them aside.you are too kind for me andi cannot survive another broken heart.(yet here i stand,falling hopelessly in love with you)
stellar seduction. Soft-light,the earth has plucked youout of orbit;shattered your silver mirrorto to see his own reflectionbrimming tidalin your eyes. he has claimedyour crater-edge bones andfor a handful of moments,called it his right.perhaps, he fanciedhimself a luna-lover,or desiredan eclipse in yoursoul so you only seehim.your mother, she warned youof first love and broken hearts,since aren’t they the same thing,after all?this universe cannot make youlisten, and wait -hear how the cosmoshold fast to their breath, starduststopped, galaxies motionless;they know, i knowthe inevitable is coming.for the earth revolves reverentlyaround Apollo’s light,and the moondances dizzily in earth’s wake,but never, never will theearth orbit the moon,or loveyou.(this stellar seduction will not last)
i could never say goodbye.we are silveredhurricane edges andmagenta fingersclutching childhoodremnants - our rootstwisted togetherlike beggar's hands:desperate at theknuckle but strongat the joint.you have a swallow'ssoul and aremigrating away fromour secret gardenwith wings of endlessocean dreams and feathersmade from my heart tendons.(think you ripped themmany times withoutrealising)come Autumn we willsplit into separateshockwaves from theepicentre of ourbeginning, but likea tectonic plate iwill wear thesefractures of you with pride.(and maybe we'll driftback together someday)
VIII.tell my veinsto stopphotosynthesizingblack nectar,tell my skinto stoptattooing itselfpurple andblue,tell my bodyto stopwriting its storyinside itselfinstead ofoutside.my arteriesdo not knowcrimson-colouredoxygenated blood,they knowsplattered ink;words carved intoeach cell,letters in eachmembrane andmy lungs onlyknow the wait betweenthis poemandthe next.
home.when I was five,I asked my mama,if home's where the heart is,does that mean that the piano is my home?because that doesn't make sense,how could i ever live inside a piano?she laughed and ruffled my hair with her gentle gentle hands.i'm a big girl, i told her, don't do that.she laughed even harder, then calmed down and went back to chopping up onions,humming as she kept the tempo steady with the knife and her strong strong hands.i did not understand why she did not cry. the onions stung at my eyes.papa was nowhere to be seen.chop, chop, chop.when I was ten,I told her with smugness,if home is where the heart is,then the library must be home.buried in books, i am finally a beautiful heroine, who,when she loses her baby fat,will get rescued from thisdull, unromantic life by a perfectly charming knight in shining armor.she smiled a sad, tired smile,and looked out the window,only to yelp as she ran outside to gather the clothes from the clotheslinebecause it w