Legs in the Mouth (Sundaze)

(bugs of my childhood + something i titled in sims for an author sim. the muse keeps chugging my tea. she also doesn’t fucking exist so i have to do this all myself while half asleep even as my tea¬†disappears.)

Source: www.deviantart.com/art/She-Has-Her-Sources-113515422 but the artist seems to have abandoned her account.

 

Tender dawn opens over the sky
a curtain of gossamer as thick as gold
a silk worm’s blood

Thinkin’ bout little lightning bugs that dominated summer, the light show circus go on to find better jobs
(caged in bottles)
only the determined light the grass and the walls in the heat of a sleeping sun.
but despite their hard work there
just aren’t enough
to fight the heated lanterns.
to fight outtrick the light.

Thinkin’ bout monarch caterpillars, dark and mottled and wide
dictionary definition
of a caterpillar, harmless
nuisance
hallway intruders.
walls are warm, and sterile
so I threw them out of school so they wouldn’t die starving

Thinkin’ bout dead ladybugs and beating little wings like glittering fire on carpet and on stone and uncomfortable steps and no fear just exasperation.
innocence.
(good luck?)
why you gotta get yourself killed like that. suffocate yourselves
suffocate each other

The nine-spotted moth crashes into grass-studded rock,
bowing
antenna bent and wings spread.

Miami, Florida: Day 4

Originally we were supposed to just stay out all day, but yesterday’s sun knocked us out about halfway through, so we ended up driving back for some rest at around 4, and stayed there until 10. I did get a tan though, and it was from walking around Wynwood, Miami’s art district.

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panic is over at my place

tired, cold, and hungry

because it’s as pervasive as
an irregular chord stuck in your head
the notes in panic, staff lines shuddering,
accidentals like scalpels and dynamics in rhythm
only with the screech and screams of Doppler-like thoughts and Doppler-like pain and Doppler-like fear back and forth and back and forth and
the cacophony makes cold feet hurt tripping along.

reheated coffee

i’m just hungry
just hungry for a rich life and success that can not come will not come when i am full
when i am full of fear and unrest and failure and i want
to throw up, first, because i cannot
swallow it down.

because it’s night

beginning of an era

The sky was dying
sinking like a feather,
crucified by messy needlework,
pinprick punctures holding weak wisps of threads,
shivering like gossamer and
decaying, seeping into the ground.

toast

The sun melts like butter
to be absorbed
by the darkest of rye
the knife sweeps the sky
on an airy crumb.