Fortress
A fortress with faded colors,
almost monochrome,
had an enchanted spell on it.
Filled with sleeping dust.
It put my dreams and hopes into a drugged, dragging nightmare
that eventually made them fall
and become one with the floor as vines grew over them.
They were sinewy, incestuous,
overflowing with affection for each other.
Totally disregarding their ill-effects
on others.
Crushing wasted dreams
into ash. Unrecognizable.
The green from their veins
slowly climbing out of them,
desperately seeking light.
If
only
for
one
moment.
For the sun made them blossom
and loosen their reigns
on their victims.
Shadows and cold
made them crack.
I was breathing there,
not living,
stuck in a tower
with no view.
Everyone thought I had it made—
in this palace.
Palace is in the eye of the beholder.
I was beheld.
An Escher drawing—
just when I thought
I had left, I was there again.
The courage to leave,
felt like fear.
And so I remained.
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Spell
A soft morsel in my mouth—
and all Hell breaks loose.
They would call it sin,
but the burning warmth
that follows chocolate, melted,
feels like Heaven.
The plainest thing is transformed
into an illusion.
A mirage—
a muffin, so seldom allowed,
tastes like cake.
Bread is disastrous.
A distinct sweetness.
A reflective road
when slicked with heat.
I am boiling, covered
in need for what
I am depriving myself of.
The weight won’t lose itself
like
Hansel.
I would turn around and eat
the breadcrumbs,
leading to my destruction.
Ravenous.
This is not the way.
Something so seldom seen,
a stranger’s home
so decadent, begging me to relieve it
from its burden.
Gingerbread walls buckling.
I am drunk
by its hypnotizing calls.
I bask in its glorious beauty.
A sweetness-avalanche
buries me.
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Parasite
I deprive my emotions sustenance,
because when they breathe,
I cannot.
Like a parasite,
they feed on me.
Even as a single cell,
they would replicate,
split without caring about
the pain they cause me.
I feel them like a hurricane,
when I try to feed myself.
They explode within me.
An atom bomb,
my insides no longer existing,
so all I do is gasp.
In a hurricane,
I feel blurry,
those jarring
pointed passing shards of
emotions,
nicking me as they
swirl around.
If I removed
my need to eat,
I would feel less.
A little numb,
a little blind,
hibernating in sleep,
detached from everything—
even those soft kisses from the wind.
All or nothing.
No desires from which
to choose.
The power to differentiate
is splintered.
Until sustenance.
