Impossible Heavens

Impossible Heavens

written by: Iluvia Triste

 

i bury my hands in my mouth
to search for depth inside my chest.
perhaps, there lies
a well of stranded magic,
or dead Irises, just waiting to be
touched,
and stirred,

till revived.

perhaps then,
this body will finally grow grass,
green– energetic, wide-awake,
radiating–
as mesmerized eyes,
a color,
so delightfully human
which looks free of hands,

vicious hands;
till i stand without a memory,
of skin, body–
haunted by leaves and
blades.

till i stand,
highly favored with more new skin,
gentler body,
making them more, more

touchable,
less desperate,
less vicious,

less unkind.

i bury my hands in my mouth
in a wish i could hold both solid
and tangible magic;

so, perhaps, from there i will shimmer.
from there i will borne more flowers,
and forget

i ever stand upon one of the grounds,
made up from
a thought, or
a tale

about impossible heavens.