Wordle #246

246

My mind is an unsettled custard,

undulate as an intestine

it flows as if everything

were expendable.

Your sick heart stands dripping

till the very last drop.

Pies, pills, pints of wax guzzled

until the corners split

and that old room-

tight as a thimble-

expands to a shriek.

I move in circles,

talking through sobs

and walls crumbling.

Only your face is familiar to me,

your soul is blank and arduous

like the tundra biome.

There’s nothing here for us

except for dust,

virulent and emphatic

a testament to surfaces used impiously.

How broken and resentful,

how sparse and cunning,

I cannot love you anymore.

I am only bones now,

my eyes, two hearses occupied.

Some tales must be prepared,

their endings hoarded

and rearranged for the ears of others.

I think my muse is mad at me for ignoring her =(

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8 responses to “Wordle #246

  1. oh codswallop!

    sorry, I really wanted to write that.

    you may feel like she’s pissed or irked, but I don’t think so …. it’s just jitters …

    and that old room-
    tight as a thimble-
    expands to a shriek.

    I mean, like “HELLO?” …. now this is simply gorgeous …. honestly. And have I ever lied to you? *shaking head no*

    just relax and allow yourself to ease back into your pace and space Yves …. honestly, you’ll be more than fine ….

  2. Let that muse pour out more pieces that leave awestruck like this one. I loved it, it really read to me like a sort of a baroque metal song? I loved this part:”Your sick heart stands dripping

    till the very last drop.

    Pies, pills, pints of wax guzzled

    until the corners split

    and that old room-

    tight as a thimble-

    expands to a shriek.”

  3. This is my favorite section:

    “pints of wax guzzled (I see these as candles … and bottles of honey.)
    until the corners split (corners of a smile)
    and that old room-
    tight as a thimble-
    expands to a shriek. (maybe the “old room” will break to make room for the new room; the “young” room)
    I move in circles, (let’s make it ring around the rosie or duck duck goose, and then we’re playing little girl games, which makes this a good thing)
    talking through sobs (and let’s pretend you’re only crying over little girl things … simple temper-tantrum kinds of things that aren’t *really* that bad; those are easy to recover from … like not getting a second piece of candy or something)
    and walls crumbling.” (and let’s pretend that when the walls crumble, you’re finally free to stretch outside the house, outside the phobias, outside the things that bind up your soul … and you’re set free to run through the wildflowers and gypsy-live life to the fullest)

    “my eyes, two hearses occupied” (and let’s makes these empty hearses, after the dead have been removed and buried, laid to rest; this is you releasing the heaviness, sorrow, and loss that has held you captive all these years; this is you seeking the true color of your eyes … and if they be black, so be it; but let’s make them shined onyx, my favorite stone)

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