To my right are the pixelated memories, clinging onto the worn-out cream walls with thin metal talons. A face that I remember, but I don't quite recognize, reaches out to me, reminiscent of the 3D eye puzzles that I used to find at the back of the pediatrician's office. Two self-assured almonds hand me a rude awakening on a silver platter, their own twisted version of a smolder. I'd like to slip on the edge of a pool, liquid gold seeping through the seams that stitch me together. I'd like to relax into its frozen touch, handing over my consciousness as easily as a well-practiced cashier would hand me my change. I'd like to taste the metallic poison on my tongue, peer through the chlorine only to watch the world burn and curl at the edges. I'd like to dream of a time when I'd grinned at the camera, donut in hand and smolder in mind. I'd like to melt crescents into my palm as I deck those two almond eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
