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