for once, I don't have the date I wrote this. this was written for a themed book of poetry I've been putting together lately.


gun smoke & mirrors

Sitting at the vanity, the charade falls apart behind a cigarette.
The eyelashes that look like clumped spider legs,
The cochineal red lip and specter-white base.
Soot for eyeshadow, huff the rose perfume at my wrist.
In moments, a towel steals my face, and what was simply is.

But even bare, something is still unspeakably off.
I feel as though I should be popping out each honeyed eye,
Running them under tap water, finished with a soft blow dry.
Pluck each tea-stained tooth one by one like earring backings—
Something about that makes sense of what’s happened.

What’s been lost, and the parts that remain—
That I choose to keep hidden so I can stay sane.
Lost the best and worst of me, and now what is left?
Smoke and mirrors, a gun chamber for a chest,
No ammunition, dry-firing and damaging my pin.



Poetry by aidan haskel The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 64 times
Written on 2024-08-30 at 16:26

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