Trophies, Scars and Confusion: a four part retrospective of events and effects some decades on
Zipped
Moving down floating
Towards the drift
Of oblivion
Sleepless
Honing
Creating infinite parallels between this world and next
Continuing to be battered
By pressures plundered by a thousand souls
Hopeful of perfection
Ever striving for absolution in a place where
Absolution is obsolete
Defeated by minds that hum and drum and strum their static forever
Winding up and down, down and up forever the staircase to the void
Avoid mess caress, be less by being more
Hopeful of feeling less tired of it all,
I’m not really this small.
I am forever exponential, and Zipped
The Teacup
I wish I had not taken that drink
I remember only some things,
In the middle of the night I felt invincible and worldly
But I was a teacup and you drank me in slow sips
I wish I had not followed you
I remember their faces
And my friend’s desperation like a sheepdog herding wolves
In the middle of the night I can still hear him crying outside my window
I wish I could forget but
I remember
In the middle of the night that strange pulling, as if I a canvas bag were unstitched by strange hands
I wish I had not carried the shame
I remember feeling guilty, like a whore paid in ashes
In the middle of the night
I remember the unforgiving morning and your precious cushions stripped red upon the lawn
I wish I could forget but
I remember
In the middle of my night, the surgery of my ego.
Tattoo Ink
I wrote HIM on my heart in tattoo ink.
Now unrequited love glues my lips and eyelids shut,
taught barbs to squeeze within sinews of dreams.
How did you stay close in a deliberate mediation of thoughts and warmth,
dreamed away and forever unyearning?
Oh I wish I could smite that hysterical ravenous gloat,
for the path stolen by ignorance disappears in golden milk.
I am hopeful you will fade away but you linger on,
screaming in that red satin dress.
My undying love,
My broken heart,
My therapy conversation,
My recurring dream.
Finally now, a heart impairment stained in tattoo ink.
Little Boxes
Memories of childhood
More vivid now
I’ve binned the little boxes
Of youthful collections
Even those seashells gathered
From the shore
Have seen better days
Their light lost the moment
You took them away.
Angelica Wright
Angelica Wright is Brisbane based YA fiction writer who works as a scientist in her spare time. She began collecting stories and writing Mira, a multiplatform YA fiction series at the age of 13. She hopes to one day publish Mira in all her forms, but for now, she will be content with soul searching through poetry and appreciating her lovely family.