I Think I'm Coming Down With Something

I cough My mouth,

A dry desert.

All the water that was once there;

went on call and became tears where

they were pushed out of my eyes like fire hose

to put out a forest fire.

Before our last conversation,

my last call to you,

it doesn't even matter.

Which 'You' I'm writing about anymore.

Before our last conversation

this dessert was lush,

had flowers full of beauty and wonder

a metaphor for myself, but

it was you,

you who set the fire to all;

All of me, you8 worlds were the gas

which was ironic because as a child

I used to say the saying

(Sticks and stones may break my bone, but words will never hurt me)

thought that was a stupid use of words, would laugh and add,

"of course, words will never hurt me I am a poet.

I'm words best friend and ambassador.

That words could not hurt someone who they need as a middleman,"

I feel so stupid.

You proved me wrong and that's not why I'm stupid

I feel stupid because I should have gotten used to this by now,

such is life, a constant force,

a reoccurring phenomenon.

That you found a way to make this time different and

I feel like I let you somehow.

You proved me wrong and

as you did so you did nothing short of spitting in my face.

She says - Hi

Her smile turned into

glistening laughter.

Her eyes were once filled with clouds,

now bright & full of character.

Her voice. Her voice

was a collection of musical notes.

Understanding that if

You learned to pay attention to

will relay a special message

meant just for you.

Her heartbeat. It's an author.

It writes thousands of poems & letters

you could read if only you learned

how to translate its handwriting.

Written on the inside of her ribcage.

The book spine holds pages of parchment, 

the book is filled for you.

In a language she knows you can understand.

She says - Hi.

Somewhere between the 'H' and the 'I'

she's incripted an entire life story.

She shares so much more with you.

Strange Queen

 -Written after: The Postal Service[Give Up]'The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

And she stands

at the threshold of

the room.

A room

waiting for

her.

The young woman

now looks visibly

unrecognizable.

Her makeup, usually

movie scene ready is 

clearly in distress.

Resemblance of

a smoke eye

is still there,

almost like it was

attempted, but

was given up on parts of the way

now leaves a raccoon or

a panda look

around her eyes.

Looking closer

you start second guessing

if this is really makeup

or if it's the 

lack of sleep

you're seeing.

Stains from mascara

streams from both eyes

causing streeks down

both cheeks

that are usually

a jolly pink tent.

Her sorrows

are amplified 

without a smile on her face.

Lips that are usually 

a red wine color

crescent moon full of joy

usually beaming 

with a 

radiant smile

stretched ear to ear

are now a dual

mute pink, a dead straight line

cracked from dehydration & 

showing visual signs 

of biting, trying to remove

dead skin.

Brown dotes on the lips

indicate dry blood marks

healing where peeling went too far.

She looks more like a

tormented soul,

a version of herself that if you had seen, you'd wish to unsee.

She stands halfway

in the doorway,

halfway out

as if trying to make up

her mind

weather of not to enter.

Her eyes are looking

around the room

almost as if hoping

they don't pick up

on her dismay.

A slight eye contact is made &

she smiles

pushing her decision

to step foot &

go into the room.

The room is silent.

The Atmosphere 

has the temper of a child

that just got scolded & 

isn't trying to

set off the parental onlookers,

all the while trying to be unseen.

Yet the atmosphere still holds 

the same temperament as a child

who's made up its mind to do something there isn't turning back from.

Fully in the room

she breaks the silence &

on her demand

the room's volume

changes to fit

the sound of her voice.

Still as raw & adventurous,

still hers

despite her current appearance.

"Let's get those fools. 

They'll be down on their 

knees groveling at our feet after 

they realize they messed with the wrong chosen family. 

They won't know what's hit them. 

They'll never make the same mistake again."

She used to be

so beautiful.

Her body,

it's curves,

what she wore on it.

Her face,

it's blemishless fantastic-ness ,

how she had it made up & close-up ready.

That's what held her beauty.

Now her voice...

how her voice carries,

how the walls surrounding protect & holds

the echos of her voice's musicality.

Her voice

Holds all of

the beauty now.

Engulfed with Words,

 the world becomes a blank page & 

your tongue is the pen.

Engulfed with words, watch the moon & the sun

become literature,

watch your surroundings

settle into their role 

as characters being written.

Engulfed with the form,

with lines of poetic thoughts

with unpublished letters.

Engulfed with the endlessness of a blank canvas

waiting to be repurposed & made new.

Engulfed,

trapped in a world within your own mind

in a world you created & that thrives off of imagination.

Alchemy

 they call it a dead art.

The art, of turning something,

of little to no value into something

of use & of value. So tell

me, what were the ingredients

that you needed & never gathered?

Or was I, the only thing you needed?

Then why did you

leave with so much more?

What were you trying to create?

Was I the result, of your own

manifestation, or was my heart &

the lessons it learned from the

'Something new' & of value that

was set out to be created?

Alchemy, they call it a dead art,

the art of turning nothing into something.

Alchemy, is kind of similar

to the relationship she allowed 

between you & her to form & fester

like moss. I guess, looking at the past she

must have mastered a ghost art.