Phoridae

Exhuming the past from an unburdened soil
Disturbing a surface that's been hardened by toil
Scuttle flies grow curious,
turn away from their bones
The roots are withered, broken
the reason unknown
Plagued with anxiety, frown lines deepen
the memory decayed, diluted... weakened

3pm

Though woken by incandescent light
I pry open my eyes
and struggle to hide the shadows beneath.

A slight twinge in the spine.
My love, unaware of time.
The day has passed
though I show no remorse

Let us repeat!

Dear sweet animosity,

Sleep

As dust settles in our eyes, my acidic tongue awakens. A blackened sprout-like enemy,
it attempts to turn me blind.

As you succumb to sleep, my consciousness begins to shame me; a blanket so heavy I wish for suffocation.
I cannot bear to sleep with a lead-heavy head.

A pillow, however plush,
could perish underneath my burning temple.
A strained, springless mattress ridden with unease. I wish that I could join you in slumber.

Vessel

I am astounded
At the constant ache to preen
Failing to carve and hack at a giant cherub
reminiscent of a spoiled version of Rubens’ work.

Pluck, pick, slather, starve
what will remain a blemished, chunky vessel
A desert of impulsion.
A feather within lard.

Like large shards of glass
ripping my throat to shreds
causing a distinct nausea that can only be cured
by acknowledging what I already know

I must admit I feel the slightest foreboding
because what I feel has been forbidden by my own misdoings
I am friends with an ominous cloud that will linger indefinitely…
though he would dissipate if I were to let you know
you will never know
you can never know
you would never know
because I, my friend, am too aware of the definition of bashful
and you, my friend, would never suspect a thing!
and I have not got the right shoesto tread across that uncertain path

The glass would leave huge holes in my stomach
My heavy insides left to gush out, surrounded by acid
leaving an indistinct shape of things that could have been
and a bloody mess of who I am and what I know

Though I should feel as light as a feather
i'd rather float through the sky with weights on my ankles
I feel too much and know too little

Uneasy

No shame in treading on flourishing beds;
An irregular shower of pesticides
serpent-like and cunning,
spreading to some benign disease
that is felt on the left of the chest.

A plague that resides in one being
unable to conjure up the strength to advance.
Buboes filled with malevolence,
yearning to be cut open
to ‘ease’ the reckless swelling.

Whilst skipping around the unsteady cusp,
ill footing and ill care leads to a fatal, unexpected lurch.
A fall into a soon-to-be lidded casket
I myself will nail air-tight.

Purify

I wondered if rocks would shift,
letting the dam go free
The water icy;
a chill I could feel right down to my brittle bones

I could throw rocks
and skim the water,
or wash my tainted hands

but instead I reside on a bank -
cold wind cutting at my face
My toes making ripples in shallow pools
detached from lakes so dirty

See http://www.poemhunter.com/laura-milner/poems/ for more

A small collection of work taken from a large collection of work compiled over the years 2012 - present