the alcove

Remembering Tuesdays

By Isabella

What is a black and white nightmare if not another pool to drown in

So I sleep again as I count the days to silence

Stretched out in the ether waiting to come down

Two pills to ascension and anything is possible

Give me a trial run at the death I want so bad

Cushion the landing as my eyes roll back

Life can leave me cold and ravenous

In the depths of night when loneliness grows like a pillar from beneath

I sweeten myself, gaslight myself to sleep

And always waking with a gaping hole or another stain in the carpet

Could I leave you to sour forever in my memory and treat the toxins as unripened fruit

Taste you again on tuesday

Drink that bitterness of youth

The Furious Aftermath

By Isabella

I get paralysis in my hands when I write

And I fall silent when I put myself in the path of that shimmering island

I understand the feeling of being a traitor to your own heart

You breathe fine but it doesn't fill your lungs up

You're anatomically perfect and spiritually horrendous

Flouncing about in your lace listening to an album titled without fear

Irony makes your teeth show and the corners of your lips go up

Yes, its beautiful but it's also a mirage

That's a smile from the brain, not a smile from the heart

For a long time I've been afraid of the painful punch of paradise

And of the furious aftermath

Wanting to watch what we can't have lived out by others

Proof that it's possible to dream the way we do

No punishment for the paradise we allow to get away

So I've been wide-eyed with dark circles and bloodshot retinas

Clambering over pebbles in stilettos to reach that floating city

Yet terrain remains between my feet and the landing

Shall I cross my legs forever and leave the city abandoned

All poems, essays, and other writing on this website are my own work and protected by copyright. They may not be reproduced, distributed, or published without my permission.

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