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  • By Gabriella Miller


I cut my finger, the sanguine smell

Permeates the air like petrichor.

The blood flows slow like caramel

Delighting in its long encore.

My clothes wear me like gossamer,

And I choke the sea with my bare hands.

They ask me which would I prefer:

Hell, high water, or wonderland.

My loneliness is fast renewed,

The poisoned air perfumed with death.

Like a hummingbird, I crave solitude

And in seven minutes I take seven breaths.

I hear my heart beat like a lullaby

That ticks away its lifelong debt.

A sound that subtly signifies

Each epoch until the next sunset.

The red sun is my paragon,

Both somber and ephemeral.

It sinks into oblivion

Like flowers yielding to my cull.

This world loves pandemonium,

In everything I see dysphoria.

Like novocaine my thoughts go numb—

And this is my euphoria.

Gabriella Miller has a BA in English Literature from the University of Vermont. She is an avid reader and writer, and lives in Vermont with her parents and two cats.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commmons User ForestWander

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