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Locus & The Missing Heart

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier

A long month what have you vacation, and I'm still not fully recovered, enjoy my woe.

Submitted:Jul 8, 2012    Reads: 21    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   

The mountains take great heights, so tall that they break through my chest.

Gasps can be heard from miles around, the forest children stop, before even thinking of making a single sound.

Finally, all that's been repressed has come forth, great explosion from my breast.

My soul leaves my body and decides to climb the landscape that broke through me.

Most days it stays sullen and sunken, but now it's mustered up the courage to evade my mundane thoughts.

Forever and always, I'll wear each single mask, a transitioning of my past.

Once when I was happy and blooming.

Twice when I was sad and lonely.

Back and forth, they go, a theatrical fiasco of mood change.

Clumsy hands and misplaced feelings are what got me in this mess in the first place.

Now my insides are throbbing and my body is begging for the cease of movement.

But move I must.

The routine cycle is vital enough, that if I don't I'll surely be exposed to self combustion.

There I go, moving forward like some obedient dog, waiting for your refleciton to reveal itself in that graceful wave of a montage.

I scan my brain for relevance, a guilt free way to think of you, hold imaginative reverie of you.

But I cannot, you're the poisonous apple my red lips touched.

Now infected, I must suffer the disease silently.

No one looks at me.

It's as if I have neon lights on my person, promoting negativeness towards me.

I can't strip myself from this locos, it's taking all that's left of me.

Anything pretty or complimentary, it's certain to consume.

Forever amused by you're brief communication, your quick touch.

Whatever is keeping me chained to the bed, whatever forced my gullet to swallow the key.

I regret it immensely.

As of now, my brain will have to channel my own self preserved empathy, than lastly a way to recovery.


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