Poetry and Prose Collection XXVI
*all writing pieces originally from Instagram @mi.haloes*
“over-under it”
Overzealous,
overbearing,
over my expectations and heartbeat.
Underwhelmed,
(mis) understood,
undersea levels begin to feel like a net breaking the ocean surface.
They catch onto my jewels, embroidering my heart and soul with scars of overconsumption.
An understatement of the world’s deities and all their superficiality that lies submerged in deep pockets.
Deep voids of despair and void.
Maybe I’m overreacting,
maybe I am uncoordinated,
but it doesn’t make a difference, though, as we all go over and under it.
(2023, Dec 1)
“a dead-end story”
I collapse on the surface of my grave,
igniting the timber wood that flares as I touch its soft design. An intricacy that existed long before our coffee cups, filled to the brim with bad decisions, were left to soal in the sink.
As time sank into the night, your deceiving eyes reflected admittingly onto the sliding door.
And now, above my grave, I sit and reminisce about all the mistakes mixed with rum and cola, all the lies that came out of our crystalline glasses.
As I cascade like a ghost into the dawning of the midnight sun, I awake to find your pitiful silhouette inch closer. The soft grass rustles beneath your boots and trenchcoat.
You were once a vessel filled with a sense of paradise,
but now your aura has become a fearful entity that feels my otherworldly gaze on you.
You once cared, and now you fear me.
You once learned to love, and now you fear the mere idea of me.
I laugh at the pathetic irony of our situation.
My corpse may haunt the layers that exist six feet below,
but you are the one who remains dead.
My ghost may have reached the gates of a hellish abyss only now,
but my dear,
you were already there, weren’t you?
(2023, Dec 9)
“mosaic”
Like a mosaic of lights that runs off to the sea,
a great poet would willingly embroider all your arches and shadows on a silk sheet, weaving each tread to replicate the gentle glistening of the tidal waves.
As the memories and tears of a fractal-covered heart pierce the skies of a destined paradise, a great poet would dance upon the equator’s cells, and amongst all the tropics where one’s treasures hide deep within the abyss.
(2023, Dec 11)
“love come undone”
Like a love come undone,
I transfer my beliefs to a case that I land-lock within the vacant spaces I once called home,
a sanctuary,
a reflection of the life my mirror foretold.
I account for the mistakes we captured under the trapeze,
a balancing act of the risks we leveraged.
Risks we selfishly embedded into our superficiality,
our superficial realities,
our superficial illusions we once called love.
Watching our acts and the plays we called home shatter like boiled sand, we watch it all unravel.
Tonight, we question ourselves, have we truly come undone?
(2023, Dec 13)
