War on Summer Update: A mild day, though I have so far managed to keep out of the sun. This feels like a tease, a breezy reprieve before the sweltering sets in.
Isle of Farewells
Every lighter I misplace is out to get me.
A coalition aflame beneath my bed, or
worse yet eying the books. I wake from
dreams where I find long gone objects,
allowing me to finally sleep. Lost pens always
turn muckraker, armies of discarded marbles
sliding down my throat regularly. They are
turning my skin turquoise and at night
cats' eyes glow and glance under my skin.
I use the light to read up on men who
taunt their prey for weeks before killing.
I check the door, glowing eyes illuminate
my trot from bedclothes to door before
pouncing back behind the padded shield.
The eyes under my skin are kitten peepers
compared to what's on my walls. Fear
mongering myself so I don't long for people
giving me other things to bleed on about.
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