Never trust an old man who wants to buy you a drink; that’s what your Dada always said when we went out for the night and you were like–yeah Dad
Tag Archives: poem
Bruises and Balms
Never trust a gift from a demon, even an old teacher, cuz they’ll do silly things like that, not realizing your head can’t hold up a demon’s weight crawling into space.
18- Brises and Banes
If the people from the time I was born heard me refer to their Brisbane city (that might not actually be their city) as “Brises and Banes” do you think they’d throw a hissy fit?
Ruin it all
Dr. Mizto came one day. The army tried fighting them and wound up wounded by their poison tongue and weight, but some doctors
Saviors
The army got its start as a branch of the police; they trained for years just to parade through
Descend/Deserve & Brainwash
Drug me and put me in a uniform, Your Honor, make me your sorry slave. They do so much for me, don’t they?
17- have it all
On Monday, my servants bring me platters of fruit. On Tuesday, they pour me rich rose baths. On Wednesday, I give a speech from the rooftops and bestow
Restore/Reorder
I’ve figured me out: I do something stupid or nasty then I feel bad. Then I punish myself. Like, I exiled you. Now I write letters to you
Rerun
I didn’t give into my baser instincts and turn the trees into people—for fifty years, at least, I kept wandering and writing you
16- return
I got a new cloak of scales in shades of brown. I got a new bag made of a fuzzy bat demon’s wing, safe to mix a myriad of potions in above a myriad of flames. I even got a glowy crown from
Jordyn Saelor 