Salamanders run spoiled circles,
with no awareness of an unknown start or finish,
chasing their tails, blinded by a desperate search
in hope of… life?
Bite down with the most sincerity
to find a prey, vanished.
At dusk hollowed lizards burn their tired sounds,
an empty vase slapped onto their portraits.
“Alive” They say they are,
hearts will explode with momentary excitement
curing a rhythm of everlasting numb expressions;
speeding 95, cycling tirelessly to bite their own bottom.
Teetering too close…
Mouths open wide, grinning to show the savage found within where,
wandering bullets shoot love-fear blasts aiming towards death.
Impossible balance remains as the childrens seesaw
spins circles in defiance of gravity.
Blissful contentedness breathes a delicate wish of death invisible to man’s eye,
wispy afterlife blows onto the fragile victims skin.
A dead beast, a breathing beast.
Chasing its tail in an impossible,
Never pleased with their book
but unwilling to seek a new construction.
A story to bring about an idea blacked out in their meaningless reads:
My Robotic Lover
The air smelled strongly of dandelion vomit.
Blue wind hugs longingly to a basket of deserted tension,
which the bored partners grew to share.
But if her curtains collapsed in on her;
he knew for certain his eyes would wander past the glare of thewindow.
Because she whispered softly so far from dawn, immune to the passing sun.
Because he danced too close to his shattered heart, blood pumping grief throughout his composition.
Trapped in decadent quarters. Where “home” was censored from the hopeful infants. Words became lost between the blur of crusted lovers' tears
and no sense was learned to ask.
Connection failed to be procured amongst the dried rivers
bearing what was once the saps of satisfaction.
A silly, empty man near a silly, empty woman…
A hungry snake delves into her vessel of stupefaction.
Hollowing out a round belly where currents heed only to their swelled ego. Finally, a seashell
washing ashore, like a diamond in a haystack, glittering gloriously in newfound limelight. To ring with the sound of muffled words
words spoken only moments ago.
Move above and in between the limits of her crusted womb.
Forget to speak. Windows slammed shut. Darkness sweeps. Programs flick on. Cheerful chatter crowds her last stronghold.
Or what is left of it.
“Leave me alone!”
“Leave you alone?!”
How bothered one must be to notice the presence beside them. Turn their head once in a while.
Away from their plastered eyes kissing the screen.
Eyes roll back into her head.
Rather die than break what gives her-gives her- her only Joy? Driving 95
Forget you. Forget him. Forget her. Forget them. Forget me. Forget us.
Liora Yustein is a fourteen-year-old writer based in Atlanta, Georgia. She has art submissions that are soon to be published in the iWrite annual book contest, her first publication. Other than writing, in her free time she loves to dance, read, and explore other outlets to express her creativity. Recently, the art she's been turning to the most in times of dire need for creative expression, has been poetry, which she enjoys because of its immense freedom and versatility.