I have consumed too many poisons
and not enough apples —
unraveled, life so unbalanced
it would make Libra cry.
Tell me, do others stare at the ceiling
and wonder when it will shatter,
wonder if there are ceilings after we die?
Prick my fingertips with needles,
and I will bleed water
because I need iron,
but it makes me sick like
most things, so I remain snow white
as the girl abandoned in her tower,
stranger to sunshine and promises, golden
hair raveled and knotted from the lotuses
that made Libra grieve.
There are not enough apples,
or slumbers, or princes to fix this,
recover sober innocence,
rewind time.
Tell me, is the blackened wick
of a spent candlestick
really enough to start over?
Remember, I know nothing of moderation.
If my vices were laid out and plated
for a feast,
I would sit easily like a queen,
eating hopes and hearts away.
Stay with me
for just an evening,
and you’ll see that there’s nothing
about this tragedy, the self-destructive
tendencies to praise.
Some days,
I wonder if malaise will always be
like a brother or if apathy will take
his place, reminding me
that there really are worse things than pain.
Tell me, if I unraveled
the mystery of sedated passion,
turned back Aion’s wheel,
discovered zeal again,
would Libra invite me to her table,
finally balance out her scales?
I have consumed too many poisons,
and there aren’t enough apples.
If I wait here, stare at the ceiling,
maybe it will shatter,
and eventually, an orchard will grow
where my untethered
fantasies roam.
About the Creator
Sam Eliza Green
Wayward soul, who finds belonging in the eerie and bittersweet. Poetry, short stories, and epics. Stay a while if you're struggling to feel understood. There's a place for you here.
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Outstanding
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Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
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