fortune glass

someone has golden air
falling from their pocket.
and i unfold my fingers up to the clouds,
stirring the foggy stars, they puddle
and ripple like impossibly-still ocean waters.
the ripples turn to waves
and the sky becomes the sea,
above and below me.

my feet don’t ripple the stars,
mosses and dirt and rocks greet me from above.
i’m underground, maybe i always was.

Yesterday, a yawn, half-satisfying and
Odious. crumbly rocks and dirt, now in my mouth,
Ubiquitous gunk clogging my throat of its tears. my
Scabs, i look at them
And try to
Imagine they could instead look like stars,
Delusional, they call me, but how right they are.
Yes, i am severely and dangerously delusional.

Once, i believed i could
Understand the fear, and was
Capable
Of banishing that fear
Under your bed, no matter how
Low to the ground that mattress sits.
Didn’t you ever want to believe my
Nonsense as fact?
That wistful thinking and hoping that the very
Stars that glitter at night, would align, make
Everything seem alright?
Even this meager dirt is starting to weigh, and
Your eyes seem so distant now, your face, your mind.

Obliteratingly, these seas flood into me.
Unalterable, these demons, these shadows of lights,
Recidivism-like things, cold,
Suffocating, bright.
Eternally, enchanting

Laces imprinted into your skin, read them like
Fortunes on those silly paper strips, then
Maim them until there is nothing left.
Absent, now, of any coherent word, all, except the
Killings. you’ve done it again.

I’ve ingested the sharp edges of the strings,
Now decorating your skin in sepia-inked things.
Grainy glassed-over shards, glittering, freshly
Inked or blood-stained, only
The maker would be whom
To know. golds, silvers
Or steals, maybe, close its gaps. it’s
Tarnished. which metal can’t rust again?
Heavy-lidded soul-seers, yours, are in the glass.
Icky pools of blinded black blood puddle in them,
Restlessness dims my blues and other hues,
They ignite now, i think, though un-seeing, showing
Yellows of that new, burning moon.

ABOUT

Deetzy is an asexual multi-hobbyist who has been diagnosed with depression, major anxiety, and AuDHD. Though when she first found out about these terms, she was wholeheartedly opposed to aligning with them. She was taught that her problems weren’t as bad as they could be, therefore invalid. She was often brushed aside and told that nothing she dealt with was a big deal from people she should’ve been able to look up to. So she turned to writing as a form of trying to figure out her mind and the very confusing world around her.