kasey in the cafeteria, 8:32 am by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
kasey in the cafeteria, 8:32 am
you sit down with your books &
a bowl of cereal.
you think they see through you &
hope the invisibility you endure
surrounds you.
you close yourself off,
hanging a "no vacancies" sign
for feelings extraneous
of the ones you already carry:
heavy, leaden, and dark.
you duck your head
as someone sits near you &
force another spoonful.
you feel your throat choke
on past and future sobs.
you wonder if anyone notices
you go days without eating.
you wonder if anyone sees that
you miss most of your classes.
you wonder if you're visible at all.
kasey,
you are.
from the sacred ashes by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
from the sacred ashes
if you look closely
there is a thin, white scar beneath the line
of my jaw.
there are rumors that
the girl from my (p/l)ast life
attempted suicide.
in my memory, i hold her truths:
slowly, but surely,
her wounds healed &
much more slowly, much less surely,
her flame expired.
from the ashes of her pyre,
i alight.
i am dead & revived.
i am death & revision.
i am a haunted soul without a grave
but i am grateful for the spectre of my younger years
& i am proud of who she made me.
who i was loves who i am.
i am embarrassed to say this:
i didn't—
not until now.
moon, i (a dearpoetry emulation) by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
moon, i (a dearpoetry emulation)
I only fuck girls who read my skin
like a diary.
You used to swear you saw poetry
carved into my kite-string wrists;
the thought of them formed constellations
behind your eyelids every time you
blinked.
I’m not a poet anymore –
just a liar with a filthy mouth &
a pretty tongue.
In my dreams,
I let a moon shy girl scorch me
with the heat of her fingertips &
when I wake,
my bed is hollow and empty.
I think there is an inferno
in your blood, my dear –
that must be why your kisses burn.
Please, shy moon, please,
warm my supernova heart &
set fire to these bones.
I’m offering 102 degrees of skin
from the fe
as gruesome as it sounds by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
as gruesome as it sounds
Lover says,
“I wish that I could pluck you
from your body.”
thin white valleys
Lover says,
“I wish that I could make a band-aid
for your brain.”
thick purple hills
Lover says,
“You build a cage around yourself
in body parts;
they’re yours so it’s not as
gruesome as it
sounds.”
my flesh, a constant reminder:
but it is,
but it is,
but it
is.
my body: the orchestra (a panic attack) by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
my body: the orchestra (a panic attack)
the violin, the viola, the cello —
they lilt up into major key and i
fall flat.
the horse hair, kite-string flutters
turn my heart
into a frenzy —
a whirring and stirring of gears.
my skin is ticking;
it will not
stop clicking.
my breathing turns accelerando
turns to
wheezing
turns to freezing.
my hands are seizing &
unfeeling.
“calm down”
“take it easy”
“just breathe”
i c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c
can’t
& it’s
displeasing.
this will not be eloquent: by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
this will not be eloquent:
i don’t think i’m meant for writing
pleasant thoughts.
my fingertips are filled with
blood & anger & emptiness.
i can’t seem to communicate
when i’m doing okay because
it’s like i don’t feel
anything.
which is okay, i mean,
but it’s just… okay.
i hate the depression
that my mind is drowning in
but
at least i am feeling
something,
i guess.
what is it like to be happy?
i think i knew
once upon a time
before i knew what death
looked/sounded/smelled
like;
once upon a time
before i wanted it for myself,
too.
Logan and Diana (too many years too late) by AnotherPassenger, literature
Literature
Logan and Diana (too many years too late)
Darling,
you were a band of silver, gold, &
sapphires on my
bloodstained left hand.
Darling,
can i still call you
Darling?
i slid you off
& tried to find you
a finger that would be a better
fit.
the only problem is:
i have a canyon in my skin
& it is shaped just like
you.
i was never fond of birthday parties;
i much preferred their deaths,
delighting in the scent of
the tail-end of a wish.
for sparks so bright &
flames so intense,
we flickered out so quickly.
i remember every breath of you,
every mouth, full of smoke.
my heart is on fire &
my lungs are inflamed.
your hands, they set me ablaze.
i never cared for them but
you have me craving
cigarette after cigarette
just to smoke you out.
i will suffocate my flame for you.
i will fill my fragile lungs
until the fumes come rolling
from my lips.
another year without you has passed &
i can smell all 21 of your blown-out candles.
you were a wish that was nev
i wish i could tell you how to
let go,
i.
wash your hands in the brine,
fall in.
ii.
let the sea carry your soul farther
than you’ve ever been. farther
than you’ve ever dreamed.
let her leave you on a beach —
lonely,
sun-dried skin burning like coals.
iii.
taste the salty air and wet your lips
but do not drink.
iv.
cry.
cry until you have no moisture left &
you find salt flats on your eyelashes,
down your cheeks,
and along your throat.
v.
do not let the saline poison you.
vi.
dive back in the water &
vii.
return to the mainland
when you are ready.
but i haven’t mastered it yet.