Xanadu
 

From Pandora’s Box She was blinded by its captivating elegance, intoxicated by her own curiosity, even when sworn to never open that box. “Merely a bronze coated chest it seemed, treasures and pleasures waiting to be discovered…” That box was no prize. There were no riches found within. Instead, a vault forged to confine the most wretched of evils who only thirst for humanity’s blood. These evils have resided in our air, our vital, inescapable air. Once fresh and pure by natu

I stay in the gutter, were the pages are pressed — holding the book together.  Never being seen.  I am the leaf  spilt to make room for others,  creased by hands that turn past me — never stopping to notice what opens the story above. On the recto  the words feel uneven,  odd against the weight of the book.  The verso stays across from me the whole time  and who is to say just because they’re even  doesn't mean they’re steady. My corners bend, dog-eared from being useful.  Fr

Who am I. What have I become, My walls are high, Marred with bruises,  A canvas of a pain that told a story No one wants to read. Every heart hides many wounds,  Holding its pain quietly—  How I hide my feelings to myself, Cling to the verge of naming them Then folding the words back inside.  Unspoken doubt, Drowned in silence,  Besotted by darkness,  Not as an end, but As the quiet where my thoughts finally fit. Darkness doesn't always mean loneliness or grief— It's the spac

Your fog trekked my treacherous path to my shoulder. I let you in and held you taut to see my  heaven— landscapes lavish with love. I entrusted you to shade my peak from the gaze of a perilous sky, to turn aerosols into healing rain for my evergrowing fields. Yet at times the radiant sun will rise on my firmament… and I hold sovereign trust in you to no longer seclude its sunshine. Welcome it atop me— stand with me against the sun and let its  aureate rays leak like a cultiva

Encapsulated heat arose, the ocean grew bitter and cold  as Uranus released a bubbly substance, its desire for the human race emerges, in a scallop shell to shore. Seafoam washed up by the seashore. Seafoam becomes she, the embodiment of a human being. A beautiful beast created, fully grown, craving for mating with man. Myrtles await her arrival, Doves hatch in branches, flying overhead to greet her. Gods fall in a lustful love.  On their hands and knees meeting her. On the i

She’s the breath of spring— reduced to a wilting flower. Life calls her name— Death holds her down. A beauty of nature, A prisoner of mortality. The cool breeze sings of her liberation. The fiery heat shapes her shackles. Bound to the confinements of eternity, merely a visitor in her own world. You thank her for the changing seasons, while her mother grieves.

You’ve been off, father. They call you the god of War— a symbol of strength and courage, never bending to the likes of anyone. Your bloodlust knowing no bounds, your drive to seek chaos, your thirst for destruction, leading you to seek blood. And yet, you don’t seem like it. Instead, you look like  a god of Impotence, a god of Failure, a god of Fear. But… that title is supposed to belong to me. So why do you show it? Perhaps the reason isn’t because of the many physical battl

Tell me of the righteousness of the devas  and the monstrousness of the asuras. Which are demons? and which are gods? Both were cursed  for pride and ugliness. Both came together to mix the milk of the sea. The demons were deceived like the workers of the slums; hard work did not yield power and a share of good, sweet fortune. From both can we learn, and neither should we dismiss. The gods chose foul play even though it is the demons’ nature that is said to be hellish.

Every morning you rise  without asking. You are so beautiful  while you undo me. Your warmth presses against me. A drop forms, then another. Suddenly, I feel myself slipping, edges softening, corners turning into water. “But I can't stop shining,” you say. I can’t stop watching as you slowly take my life. Drop by drop I become something new something less solid.

I used to be a goddess, but now they call me a monster. Like I was born with these strange, sickening, snakes in my hair. But once, my hair was just hair. Still soft enough for the wind to comb through. I used to be a girl who believed in the gods, and mercy. But then came the curse. A hiss where my laughter used to live, scales where skin used to be warm. Now men, who call themselves warriors, travel miles for the glory of my silence. When they look at me, they see what they