Cyanide Dreams: Poetry


Discarded light across a smoky mirror,
Illuminating reality in a portrait
of black and blue on supple skin
viewed through her shaking fingers

The painting presses into memory,
where nighttime canvases absorb
hues of fear in vibrant strokes
from a subconscious paintbrush

The tip outlines the shallow darkness,
where infantile sketches trip past
stark corridors of perfectionist executioners
equipped with poisoned apples

“Come, my pretty! Have a bite,”
These hags croon in blind unison;
Yet Snow White suffers self-inflicted hunger,
having no more appetite for cyanide dreams.


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