Part 1 can be found here.
The body doesn’t learn.
The body, a machine.
Got you tattooed right on top of my spleen.
The mind is drunk
On kerosene and high with ghost of Jack.
It is necessary.
Let the hands of clouds and woodlands,
Let the lungs of oceans
I’ve’ got the daggers, I’ve got the revolvers;
I’ve got the darkness
Pinned to my shoulders.
I am an idiot
Strapped to a gigantic butterfly with a harness.
I think clouds are candy.
I am a misbehaving child.
I am so sorry.
I am wild.
I want my soul to fit inside of it.
But it doesn’t.
I should have finished all dem schools.
I hate rules.
Wish I was as simple
And as useful
As a box.
I wish I was an assembly of useful parts.
I want to be his motherboard
Or at least his graphic card.
Against the wheels of bicycles
I find ugly
Or would never fit.
Sometimes I sit
And just stare
For a while.
But most likely anyone or anything.
I believe in things
That dwell on borders,
Prescribe the dead nature of veils.
With me, hope sells.
Perhaps for someone who toils away at this death
By picking sea shells
From the cold hands of mermaids.
The highway to the robots red circuits
Is hamburgers and fries.
I am not good with lies.
I think I would probably just go
And join the circus.
Be a fortune teller.
Trade with the raven’s insides.
The ending has been spoiled for me.
I will be dead, but somebody will
Still keep me inside
Like a gust between their wilderness,
A leukocyte inside their left arm.
It will probably be people I don’t like.
I would be forgiven.
I will be forgiven.
The Devil is kind.
The Devil puts the gentlest sin in love.
All I ever did was love.
At daytime, date your sun.
Make the sweet boats rock. Be gentle.
I love the way their names sound in the rain.
I love the way mine sounds like lust.
I don’t mind.
I don’t mind.
Gods, I swear the way I feel
Would never fit a napkin.
He is the kindest.
He scoops my tears from the floor.
He is the kindest,
He licks it all up
And pretends nothing happened.
The world is alright.
I wish he would tear my lungs out
And make himself wings,
Fly around the world in 80 days
And think how I died
Before I could ever afford
A hot air balloon.
I am a dog
With a million names.
Yes it is cruel,
The darkness just never calls me
As normal people do.
I love a boy.
I’d rob a bank for him.
I’d tear down Heaven for him
Like it is a canvas with a bad forgery of Mona Liza,
Even worse, I’d sell my soul
And buy a house in heaven
With a perfect room full of guitars
And good internet
He would never have to leave.
But I go and say to myself
He is just a friend
Who likes the way you look
In your black bra;
He is just a ghost of the sunshine of your tongue.
But I love that boy
Despite the porch of my husband’s whorehouse,
Despite the tender sinew of his girlfriend,
Despite the drunk dead townsfolk
Lingering between who we are.
I love him and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Believe me, I tried.
Me, of ravens.
Me of black feathers.
Me with my fucked up words.
Me with my black soul stepping into the light.
Me with my raven eyes that see into the future,
Me, so unclean, when you ask me
To elaborate stuff.
I’m afraid I’ll be in love.
I’m afraid I won’t die just get married to a skeleton.
I won’t let him do his job.
I’d tell him things like:
“Honey, let’s stay and listen to old records,
Let’s drive around the desert in your Cadillac,
Sing me the techno, let me wear your robe,
Let me cum into your two empty sockets, go buy me cigars.”
And nobody would ever, ever die
It makes me feel like
The whole wide world
Is blue, black, and green
And I’m colorblind,
But is pulses there
Between my talons
And I swear, I swear on my dreams
I will try my bestest
Not to squeeze.
Oloriel is a poet and artist hailing from Belgrade, Serbia. She loves dreaming up things then making them happen, whilst also being a wife, mom, artist, photographer, translator and designer. Her greatest wish is to one day become a chef, and make the best pies in the world. She blogs at color me in cyanide and cherry