Poem: An Illusion – Spoken Word and Text – 13/07/20

Audio: An Illusion
My hands present as aged and weary,
my flesh paper-thin and melting 
like an image of Salvador Dali’s,
with bones like soft honeycomb,
where bees cheerfully settle in.

Their wings frantically beat
they seek nectar from the rhythm,
the rhythm,
hands slowly try itching them away,
off my skin,
away from an arm which they travel upwards,
ignoring my slow decay.

Other insects join in,
stinging mosquitoes,
beautiful butterflies
who live but three days without sin,
it’s rather unlike the diaries of old,
to go three days without intentional error
would utterly amaze.

The bees are now concerned,
combatted by the wasp
whose angry demeanour wishes to fight
my friends,
in my shin’s honeycomb land,
the buzzing, the droning,
whom will succeed at their intent?
At securing a home of marrow-less matrimony?

A fly settles on the wall of my wrist,
sardonically smiling,
he decides to join in the violent tryst
of bee upon enemy
upon melting candle-wax skin,
or like a nightmare,
reality is falling.

In the heaviness of a veil
which draws itself away from my subconscious,
I'm once more myself,
no more strange images,
curious bees
butterflies, maddened mosquitoes,
wasps whom will not leave.

My bones are themselves again,
full and not deprived,
weariness dissipated and skin almost
I am alive.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by PollyDot from Pixabay

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