when the next worldly revelation arrives in a billowing sky of dust, the moon breathes that painful light of creation
That icy chill that comes with the sun’s shadow
Is it so cold to freeze off limbs?
Will it warm the blood in confined confusion
Before it melts off all nerves
Like a poisoned, broken apple
Like the one Adam and Eve shared?
We tend to catalog and categorize pain in levels
It looks like a new sort of cancer
Or brand new art
A splattered canvas with no discernible detail
But how can you make this look like anything
When sun is cold
And moon is boiling hot?
When skies all black and yellow and once midnight milky blue,
Tend to staple together like inhuman claws, all red and dry and sharp
To kill your sense of humor like stuck in glass at your heel
I dance wildly with no expression, like Ariel, sea-foam forming at my fingertips and toes as you
Painfully walk past me in silence
Forgetting me is easy
But don’t forget
If you keep doing this again
If you keep going on without
Remembering stuffing others with fat you cannot trim
Kills us inside…
The sun will always run cold.
About the Creator
Melissa Ingoldsby
I am a published author on Patheos.
I am Bexley is published by Resurgence Novels here.
The Half Paper Moon is available on Golden Storyline Books for Kindle.
My novella Carnivorous is to be published by Eukalypto soon! Coming soon
Keep reading
More stories from Melissa Ingoldsby and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
"It looks like a new sort of cancer Or brand new art A splattered canvas with no discernible detail But how can you make this look like anything When sun is cold and the moon is boiling hot?" Love these lines especially. Beautiful piece, once again.
"I dance wildly with no expression, like Ariel, sea-foam forming at my fingertips and toes as you Painfully walk past me in silence Forgetting me is easy" "We tend to catalog and categorize pain in levels It looks like a new sort of cancer" Merly, I started crying reading this and these were my favourite parts. Been quite emotional today and your words brought out my emotions in the form of tears. It's just too true and too relatable! I hope this isn't how you're feeling though. Sending you lots of love and hugs 🥺❤️
How could I forget you, Melissa? Myself? Easy. You? Not possible.
Sounds like a personal Armageddon, like the pain of the whole world all compiled into a dying sun. Needing solace.
This was so sad and heartbreaking. Sending you lots of love and hugs ❤️