the contents of the atlantic 

are tucked behind my ear. 

the other isles have oozed into my hair

parasitcally working their way down my throat

sharks rippling in my vocal cords.

bless your hands! (bermuda cries)

as they drag across my ribcage

the sculpture that harbors atlantis.

a sunken treasure

that you have resurfaced. 



15 years old

More by crisscross

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    Disregard the misconceptions of hostility in the act of lying. It is just a mechanism brought to us first by Darwin. A bird nips at the soil, her beak raw from the tragic repetition of giving and giving.

  • metaphor

    I have this image of you holding a bloody heart, kind of sunken. When this girl needed help the most you tore out your heart to give it to her but her body rejected it and attacked it. It's a natural reaction, like allergies.