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The Discarded, The Forgotten
I am accustomed to spitting out bones of my prisoners, not witnessing their escape. I hear whales whistle their stoic dirges as I descend—they know the doomed are villains and freedom is promised to the brave of the brine. I am Devil Damsel, doomed as villain deemed with jagged teeth of unworthy. I am a colorless livid leviathan ghost ready to seize joy from the helpless, from the hopeful. I see red, but I am not blind. Before my downward plunge, I witnessed stars in the sky. Distracted by their glow, I missed your own, sinking back down into my monomaniac world, where stars are only dreams I shame over.
Seductive subduction.
I thought I knew darkness till I saw that glow—that glimpse of unreachable light. And I can live there. All I need to do is swim upward and kiss the surface. But the abyss—I consume it, and it consumes me.
Hydrostatic hell.
I am chained to these Platonian trenches eternally deemed ignorant. Death boxes. Nailed, anchored, mercurial, messy, mine. I deal with the discarded, the forgotten just as I disembody the discarded, the forgotten.
Catastrophic cold.
It freezes everything that I am that you see me only in your pain.
(Note: this is a sequel to an older poem I wrote years ago called Devil Damsel)
Copyright ©
Laura Breidenthal
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