What I’d Tell You If I Could i. Before everything turned to dust, to grey soot before my unseeing eyes, Before I walked through life as a woman who still delighted in that feeling of desire of heat emanating from the wicked depths of a stranger ii. It was here that I wrote these mementos on crisp hotel paper, the ink free-flowing, staining the carpet below, much like I would mere moments later. The floral wallpaper, wilted and curling around corners of what I now know to be my last sanctuary, has never been changed — but who dares disturb iii. This slumber. Elusive as redemption. 3:18 a.m. always, the alarm clock gets stuck at this ungodly hour as if to keep my stagnant energy company, as if it could somehow change my fate iv. Who are you, then, to complain of this room — the blessed radiator in the corner that far outlasted whatever remnant of life I tried to salvage that god-awful lace pillow that pink faded color coagulating with the filth of a thousand unworthy bums grinding away at all hours of the night with no regard for all the lonely souls that came before?
All the Spells You’ve Harbored Traversing the uncanny valley evokes a sense of wrong geometry having never been fully accustomed to the delirium of the shadow world Her neighbor refuses to cut those hedges blocking drivers’ views, so the silent city grotesquely smiles, eager to gorge on bloated first fruits of the living before year’s end Mother's fig tree is barren this year, full diaphanous leaves tauntingly upturned to receive the blessing yet unwilling to reciprocate the sacrifice Originally posted to HelloPoetry in 2020
Fragments In the center realm my awareness grows; unbeknownst to him, I am no longer the doe-eyed child claimed (bound) by naivete He slithers forth now the attempts to parade his glossy new image as futile as the re-branding of the Cecil – an ornate and stately synagogue of sorrow Darkening corridors leading to nowhere harbor secrets we've buried alongside our dead – where are they now? A forgotten foretelling paces warily in an impenetrable glass cage Under a quaint blood moon he dresses his story again in off-white flimsy shrouds Only the filth remains. Originally posted to HelloPoetry in 2020
Melody Wang currently resides in sunny Southern California with her dear husband. In her free time, she dabbles in piano composition and also enjoys hiking, baking, and playing with her dogs. She can be found on Twitter @MelodyOfMusings.