Eye echoes eye,

sat back, black

but for a single flame.

She dropped a diagram

into the fire,

sent, to ricochet

through time;

a symbol of desire,

of will, contained

and unified.

My enemy dealt a blow

to their own hand,

their own heart.

In the moment,

the fire touched

their wicked design,

ricocheting through time,

retribution came.

It burned the hand

that tried to bind

a sorcerers heart.

You asked for my trust, then marred it with betrayal, wondering why the faith was lost.

{Juansen Dizon, I Am The Architect of My Own Destruction page 24/ Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 6: 1955-1966/ Alice Hoffman, The Red Garden/ Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955/ Haruki Murakami: Norwegian Wood, page 276/ Michael Ondaatje/ Catherynne M. Valente, The Orphan's Tales: In the Night Garden/ D.H. Lawrence, from The Complete Works; The Plumbed Serpent/ Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit/ Alice Notley, from In The Pines: Poems; "In The Pines,"}

“…make death proud to take us.”

-Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra

In Answer

-

For me, poetry is the search

for a melody in uncertainty;

a reassurance in the crumbling

architecture of my defiance.

It is how I find my way back

to the present and reclaim

my experience.

—Charles Bukowski

"I am left with nothing but unfulfilled promises and memories of you"

- M.M

la luz de tu alma | víctor m. alonso

[tú estás allí, donde miran mis ojos]

bounce back // ma.c.a

[shitty poet]

twisted, toxic

mess. guess it's better

than being

sexless...

---

lifeless fuck, dirty

suck, blissfully stuck

giving the body all it wants.

---

sell me nirvana by

the jar. break

every one and walk

on the shards.

-

slip downhill into

oblivion.

— © Letters From Alex | Instagram

of "gods i can't belong to" by l.g

Being a poor academic:

Sometimes I feel like I don't fit in. I'm on a scholarship to a private school. I live an hour away because my parents can't afford to live in the city. I feel like I don't belong even though I'm one of the top students. I don't shop at the goodwill for the aesthetic or the environment, I shop there because I can't afford Walmart. I don't have bookshelves bursting with books that I can't afford. I ask for sweaters and school supplies for Christmas. Somehow, I think that being poor has made my thirst for knowledge stronger. I want to be able to support myself by working one job, not 4 like my dad does. I want to buy books and write in the margins. I want to buy my wife flowers.

No Parent

No parent should have to bury their child.

Nor should they have to do so

Three times in one night,

Only to find him standing at the foot of the bed.

He always was a restless sleeper.

He still is.

If Dracula had had some Irish blood.

If Dracula had had some Irish blood, he’d be living to this day, he would even walk among us, when the clouds are low and grey. He’d have no need to hide his coffin; we would have no fear to call, we could brighten up his dark, cold crypt, and hang crosses on the wall. When the summer days are long and bright, we would keep him in the shade, we could even let him stay the night, and never be afraid. He could visit schools and teach our kids, about how to mind their teeth, and tell them they must wash away, the blood from all their meat. He would drink some pints of Guinness, for all the goodness that he’d need, and he’d never over do it; he would not resort to greed. If Dracula had had some Irish blood, he’d be a model for all men, and if he died a nasty death, he’d  rise up and walk again. Ambrose Harte Scattered Thoughts