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by Milena Bee


in one
mere breath i
remember how it feels so be alive, how
one can survive being ripped through the layers upon the world so that

i might feel something at your touch.


elapse, time.


a memory to recall in only tender moments
of the past disregard which is really
the present, the prescient carelessness that drives me
and the path with other worlds,
into a different sort of trouble bathed in
neon light.
which asks me
what i can and cannot handle.
what i will and will not
deny myself in the growing light of day as i watch
the sun come up on another day wherein i feel tied to a specter that would bring me down

in his own desire to be like me, horrorshow of carnal delight.


and as such i become latent, under

lying and irritated with resentment.


and i become a wretch, a lifegiven creature
that spews dark filth upon first reawakening, set upon a threshold that demands pain for survival and scrambles itself to avoid true sight.
eyes glued shut by my own body, you
peel me open to see the rot within and decide
upon rehabilitation.


cultivation of decayed roots, overlooking

the disease that set upon aggrieved body

in the first place. small mercies, to not

give power to malignancy.

or voice to admissions of pain. tending

to the broken roots, so maybe once

you can touch me and not come away

feeling unrighteous. 


About Milena 


Milena Bee is a poet and mythologist. When they're not using their poetry as a chronicling method, they're trying to find a way to court the preternatural in with their supernatural fixation.  They live in Los Angeles with their cat, Tangerine, and are the co-founder of zine-style newsletter All Guts No Glory, which publishes bimonthly art and culture commentary. 


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