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June Naps in the Town Cemetery by Jessi Harrison

A cricket follows

you into the house.

                               You do not

                               know this at first.


But the echoed chirping of trapped

desperation haunts its way

into your dreams.


                                 Funny, on how a bad

night, your bed sheets become a blade.

Your sweat becomes the guillotine. And

your dreams become an awakening

into the afterlife.


You watch the way

                                 I breathe.

Like an exoskeleton picking

out and rearranging each rib

bone with every rise of the chest.


In your sleep – you speak to me

in riddles. Like you can’t afford

tongues. Like the devil

has been cleansed from inside

you. Like you gave up

poison years ago.


                                 Yet here we lie.

Dirtying things that do not deserve

stains. Carving our names

into the trunks of trees just to prove

physicality. Knocking over grave

markers in the cemetery like the

answer to every secret

is in the haunting,

                                 not in the ghost.

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My Way

Spent so long following the beaten path
The one lit up with tales of the right way
But I’ve been on this path for years
And I’m nowhere near where I wanna be
So I’m gonna turn here and
Go down that dark trail
And let the fire in me light the way
Tempting me with the easy road
The one that’s been tried and true
But for me that just won’t do
I don’t wanna make it to the other side
With my dreams as the sacrifice

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When we are young we think
time is brimming with endlessness,
looking upon it with an insolent interest.
We are crowded with naive wonder,
that, in retrospect, is a touch frightening.
Should we pay our dues for blindly trusting
because we were deep in the
misguided haughtiness of possibility?
No. The world has gone ahead since then.

Continue reading Efflorescence.

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You had a dream. You had plans and things seemed to be in order. Until they weren’t. Until they changed. And that person you trusted with your everything turned into someone else. And you ask yourself how you didn’t see it coming, how could you not know. But you didn’t, because you trusted them, you believed them. And you blame yourself. But it’s not your fault. You can’t be guilty of trusting the good you were showed. You are not guilty of believing they felt the same way about your life, your dreams… because they said they did. Because they showed you they did. Because they planned that life with you. Before they turned into everything you wanted to run away from. And it’s hard to turn around and see your dream have turned into a nightmare. But it’s harder to pretend you didn’t see it. So you fight if you must. You run if you must. And you start again. But you never, ever stop believing. In yourself. And in the good you see in others.

© Máh Lima