Part 2: Ask Me and I Will Tell You-Oloriel

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

Stay clean.

I’ve’ got the daggers, I’ve got the revolvers;

I’ve got the darkness

Pinned to my shoulders.

It breathes.

 *

Interlude

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.

 *

Yes.

I want my soul to fit inside of it.

Yes,

But it doesn’t.

Yes,

I should have finished all dem schools.

Yes,

I hate rules.

Wish I was as simple

And as useful

As a box.

Yes,

I wish I was an assembly of useful parts.

I want to be his motherboard

Or at least his graphic card.

 *

My reflection

Juxtaposed

Against the wheels of bicycles

And clothes

I find ugly

Or would never fit.

Sometimes I sit

And just stare

For a while.

 *

Anyone. Anything.

Anyone, Anything.

Nobody, myself,

But most likely anyone or anything.

I believe in things

That dwell on borders,

Prescribe the dead nature of veils.

Anyone, anything.

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.

*

Interlude

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 mind.

I don’t mind.

I 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

Again.

 *

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 

 

 

 

 

 

4 Comments Add yours

  1. speak766 says:

    Wow, this is so incredible and powerful. Very honest and raw. Nicely penned!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. DeanJean says:

    This turns into an epic that burns everything down in its path. A good sort of forest fire that relinquishes the hidden and brings out the strength into the light.

    Liked by 1 person

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