TW: MENTION OF BLOOD
being in bed without
any hand to god makes me restless, and needy
speeding in a residential area,
peeking through the blinds.
the implied phenomena of distance
found often in the compartmentalized misery
of growth. orders of secrecy only beget wistfulness, more yearning to be
encouraged to pull away, grasping at the sanctity
of space, serpentine in kind,
in the fast lane
speeding from and to oblivion
going home and hiding
the ache of my jaw
in the drunken stupor i fake
with blood on my face, a slow
trickle over cupid’s bow
the roof of my mouth
a bruise in testament.
whiskey on my tongue.
an accident, an expatriation, an extension
of my leather jacket
cold on the nape.
are you going to let me down easy?
slowly, to merge, to move and grow
i’ve got hopes i can’t stand to abide;
to be so lovable and yet so soft inside
except for the salt that rises
from the depths
of my throat, constrictor panicked.
your fingers pass right through me.
Milena Bee is a chicane poet based in Los Angeles. Their work aims to chronicle love, longing, despair, and more in a way which canonizes and mythologizes. This comes from their lifelong study of mythology, specifically Greco-Roman. They are the co-editor-in-chief of All Guts No Glory, a zine press hoping to one day evolve, pokemon-style, into a magazine. Find them online at milenabeeartistry.com