literature

from the phantom, to the ruins

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Literature Text

Skeleton boy—

You were an architectural masterpiece, a city caught aflame, Atlantis purged with fire—

you were destined to drown, but burned instead, 

cinders are not becoming of you.

 

Skeleton boy—your ghost left so long ago.

Turning your ribs into wind chimes will not summon back

all that you used to be.

Skeleton boy, remember that your crooked teeth are

bones too.

Bones that break, bones that splinter, like the words you uttered before you—

 

Your ribcage used to house a heart. I don’t think either of us realized

love had an expiry date.

Skeleton boy, your jaw works on

hinges,

it is a door that promised so much, but you spent everything you had in you and

 regurgitated your insides

(they splattered out in perfect sonnets.)

Skeleton boy, maybe we should launch you into space, so

 your animated bones can fall apart in the absence of

 

(your inner) gravity is the only thing holding you together,

muscles and tendons wilted away like

daisies and false hopes.

 

Skeleton boy, you are nothing without us but

we are nothing without you.

Sometimes I wish you were made of steel and diamond and not foolish, breakable bone—

You were the architect of my hazy, fog covered landscape, and

skeleton boy, I can only write imperfect poems

for you.

Iambic pentameter drunk on (lack of) existence,

 

no one remembers me anymore.

 

Skeleton boy,

don’t turn yourself into music for me.

(your femurs and phalanges are not xylophones—careful, careful!

they are fragile.)

B
esides,

I can already hear you just fine.

 

Skeleton boy—you are all that is left.

I see how your bones quiver and rattle;

don’t be scared.

One day, you will turn to dust, but you will

 not rattle then—you will float.

 

Skeleton boy:

you were my home.

you kept searching

for your ghost but

 

I’ve been here

all along.   

I've had this sitting in my notebook for a while. I started out just scribbling things down about a skeleton (truly silly things, honestly) but then I started thinking about ghosts, and the relationship between the psyche and the body and how in death, it roughly translates to the ghost and the skeleton--they are both remnants, both echoes. 

So yeah. This can be interpreted however you wish. A poem about a lover, a poem about a skeleton, a poem about both--you decide! Whatever interpretation you choose, I hope you like it. It's definitely one of my favorites. :D

(c) me  
© 2015 - 2024 sylveda
Comments8
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MockingJay1256's avatar
ermagawd. *dies an emphatic death at the hand of sylveda 's words*

Now, as a ghost, I shall tell you that.... There are no words to say how incredibly talented you are, only proof time after time you upload something written. I am amazed at your choice of words, how everything falls into place smoothly.

I understand imperfect-parachute losing their shit at that line, but I lost mine in a few places :P
Here:
Your ribcage used to house a heart. I don’t think either of us realized

love had an expiry date.

Skeleton boy, your jaw works on

hinges,

it is a door that promised so much, but you spent everything you had in you and

 regurgitated your insides—

(they splattered out in perfect sonnets.)
:iconfeelsplz: gah. Where do I even begin??? I think your comparison of a jaw to a door with possibilities on the other side is just hauntingly beautiful.

And here:
You were the architect of my hazy, fog covered landscape, and

skeleton boy, I can only write imperfect poems

for you.
To me, this line skews the narration towards being about a lost lover. After loosing someone, things seem fogy. But I LOVE LOVE LOVE the "I can only write imperfect poems for you." because that's just all kinds of true. The poet may always see those poems as imperfect but to the reader, they can be absolutely flawless.

You are flipping flapjacks amazing :D Keep up the amazing work, looking forward to reading more this summer!

BTW I'M FRICKIN' GRADUATING IN A MONTH :iconscreamingplz: