Hourglass

i. The moon is a dirty mirror, scarred
and barely reflecting the only
remnants of daylight;
the forest is an ocean that has
never known light or dark, only
deep, unearthly blue
and I am the path that winds the trees
till they become labyrinths of themselves
and I am the ash; ash of
stars that burned like dreams
and my dreams that collapsed like stars
somewhere between my thighs and my elbows;
and my belt is of these black holes, these bruises of dawn in reverse
and my bow is of the gravity
that will break the silver mountains
which holds the mirror in the sky
and leave something not quite evil
not quite pure behind but grey;
and I am the kind of malice the
hunt worships.

ii. I am a throne
lavish leather and memoirs from
the underworld;
a throne in an empty house
that sits next to a palm tree and
collects sand, and by sand
I mean time;
because time is sand that
gets caught in our eyes and
makes us see things that aren’t there;
like this mirage of emptiness,
this seeming silence that hides
the breaking of rocks underneath
an armor, and by armor
I mean skin that knows no doors;
and time redirects here
to counting down the moments
till death comes, at the mercy of
claws that go tickticktock;
because the sky is a desert
and I am the sun burning within.

iii. Tonight is twilight is the world
and the world is a candle
that flickers when I breathe.

 

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