My Last Night

I charred their bones
that night
when I let the snow
fall up my nose. Convincing myself that falling stars
were meant to breathe

in like the Indian breeze
is meant for scorched skin. My sin was begging for snow.
So, yes, I decided to grate my bones
that night.
Confessing to them that the stars

had fallen in the Arabian Sea. But those weren’t stars,
it was just the moonlight.
“O, but please pretend– for our breeze!”
No, I should have never left Chicago without letting the snow
fall and melt my bones.

I guess I never craved sanity. My bones
must be delusional. Everyone can tell by the dilated nights
of my eyes that I am stars–
they can not breathe
easy. It was never easy for anyone. Easing away from that snow

last night
was like losing that last breeze
of my ashen remains to the gradience in their seas– that was the last of my bones.

* my first attempt at a sestina for my poetry class… I got the formatting wrong and had to redo it :/
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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Addiction, Bipolar Disorder, Cohering My Trip, Poetry 101, Prompted Poetry, Recollecting India, Recollecting Insanity and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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