Poetry for Moths

Here you are again, your relentless Hello breathing down my neck. You again, the very definition of Other. It is not so much that I resent your reoccurrence, That I resent your reappearance; I find comfort in my seething, Warmth in hating you, solace in your homemade wreck. Here you are again, flaunting your wrapped finger still, It's you with your pointy whispers wrung out in saccharine silks, Sickly and alluring. And you call out to me, otherworldly, never-ending: "That is she." I find comfort in my seething you see, As you set me apart, designate me as the Other woman to your entourage, Set me ablaze with your own red letter, Revel in your choking mirage. At least I can say confidently now: my sorrow not in vain, The irony clear, you the Other woman, you the heart polluter, You the inconsiderate and parched bane. It must be December that brings you about this way, Fills my tired mind w

Grabbed a black box, To fix your Saturday morning fuck up. But I douse my cells in acid to cleanse,  Look up and ache; and I think of her. * * *  It looks like her, tugging at my hairline.  It feels like her, creeping back under my nails. It sounds like you, drowning me in gaslight. * * *  Get her out of there, Out of my hair. Rid me of the residue. * * *   I grabbed a small black box, no two. Half off, just like my love was. I tried to fix it, now I'm back Here drinking to the day * * * You left me with a crack.

25 mai, année lunaire 804 (AL804) Arrivé à Yellentide par bateau-S, enfin. Un incident avec une pieuvre-titan a retardé la connexion à Pandorelle, donc j’ai dû prendre la 8 au lieu. On aurait pensé que le Grand Maître aurait trouvé une solution, mais non. Mais la caffe est bonne, j’en ai bu deux pour accompagner les pillules. Signé, Héléno 02 juin, AL804 Yellentide ne change jamais, et en même temps change toujours. La ville est intouchable comme les autres dans le quartier, toutes contraintes à la Loi de l’Ésthétique du Légalia . Les habitants, par contre, ou les passants, plutôt (des habitants, il n’y en a pas bien-sûr), sont en flux incéssant. Reste à voir si je retrouverai Sisophène. Elle a déjà eu sa Journée du Processus . Elle me manque. Héléno 08 septembre, AL806 Encore sur un bateau-S avec un délai majeur. Rien n’a changé en deux ans. Sisophène avait les cheveux rouges au fait, je viens de m’en rappeler. Tant pis, elle est morte. On l’a condamné,

“Are you traumatised, my dear?” asked a stern face from above. “What?” I blurted. I had been kept behind a closed curtain in a white room the size of a small walk-in closet for over twenty minutes with an overweight Scottish woman as my sole companion. As the smell of spices and bleach slowly invaded my nostrils, I had been given the strict instructions to relax, partially undress, and lay still. Indian folk music was playing on the radio. “You are shivering!” she noted, touching my shaking legs.   “Yes, well I mean, I am naked after all,” I said nonchalantly. “Listen. Is this traumatising for you?” she repeated, with forced motherly tenderness. “…No.” I replied, with scepticism and caution. The face before me creased in agonising disbelief, raising its left eyebrow. Oh…my god , I thought. Does saying I am not traumatised make me sound …traumatised ? Scenes of Simon Cowell pressing his buzzer and uttering the words “It’s a no from me” flashed before my