behind the fridge there are hidden words

We found this place

we
found this place,
it swallowed us with warmth.

we
loved this place,
it cradled us in its claws.

we
shared this place,
it gave us family, shards of glass.

we
kept secrets in this place,
it didn’t hold them there, buried.

we
shed sins in this place,
it caught them, a brim of dread.

we
ran from this place,
it came back to haunt us till the front porch coloured red.

Oh my gosh! I just love everything about this poem. The aesthetic, the layout, and the imagery are all amazing. I especially love the last line and the visual of the “porch colored red,” symbolizing that something bad has happened here. Good job!!

thanks so much, Wist! Glad you like it <3 And yes, your interpretation is correct.. something something bad.

when the bad things start

last i saw of you, blue lips and stained camisa
feels like you tripped on the stairs and went out
said you would be back real soon, to blow out the candles before they burned the house
pero soon was only just miles behind, and we did not reach the part
cause five years don’t come back to us. did you first stop writing autumn cards, or was it i?

Sad, sad reality.

those days were just yesterday. today, too shocked or too tired. breathed something i wished was copper, as the wind blew past my attire of solid colour. the dust on your windows paint the rope away, it still hangs from your ceiling. was just then that me di cuenta que those yellow-vomit vans were just here for you. they left their oxygen tank at the ER and the masks were just for covering faces, for you wouldn’t be needing those.

Bad, bad circumstances.

watching them holding you in their arms. stood there casually, a normal person with a plus one, passing by and seeing a crowd of people. they were fixated on the rope, no rojo to keep them busy, no forensics to do their work. oh, an awful lot of noise they were making, near a dead-ordinary apartment with a

Dead, dead person.

Fascinating poems, Roxanne!

'we found this place'
> I like how "we" gets its own line.
> The shape of the poem overall is really cool - it feels almost like something is descending or cascading downwards, as "this place" seems to affect the "we" as time goes on.

'when the bad things start'
> I like the lines "did you first stop writing autumn cards, or was it i?" - the subtle melancholy in the characters not writing cards to (I presume) each other anymore is really good.
> The escalation to the death of the "you" in the following stanzas really got me, as well as the line "Bad, bad circumstances." It just feels so haunting.

Lim, thanks for such a thoughtful response and feedback! Those cards were exchanged between them, indeed. Love that you noticed that line :] i added it at the last minute because it just fit the fracture in their connection so well.

@Liminality

AAH might be going off track from the storyline but this part does come soon after. It marks the beginning of the unraveling of whattrulyhappened?

Text-version:
oranges.

when i walked past the stalls
of oranges that left me inebriated
making delusion part of forgetting
in reminder air brought something cool
dense and held me choking
on that life which they had drowned
sat rotting on the sand of the blues
old but younger than the age of
bones that kept straight to get my love
a thing that i would devour for them
scenic the colour of those
oranges.

Equation of Lies = Subtraction of Truth

grey + dust + Words(X) + leftovers = yester(Q) + leftovers + dust + l(v)e + grey - truth

dust + words(X) + leftovers = yester(Q) + leftovers + dust + l(v)e - truth + grey - grey
(how grey holds fragile mirrors, shaping reality of mixed meaning)

leftovers + words(X) = yester(Q) + leftovers + dust - dust + l(v)e - truth
(what lies in dust, returns to dust, it shall exist to coexist and make its way to grow as oaks)

leftovers + words(X) = yester(Q) + leftovers + l(v)e - truth
What happened to us [statement or question]
Just yesterday, i saw, after molecules settled on the old electric cables, five years ago.

words(X) = leftovers - leftovers + l(v)e- truth
What [do] i [have] left? Discard them. (those were just thoughts)

words(X) = + l(v)e - truth (there’s no such thing as truth. was it there before?)

words(X) = l(v)e
(but love decays, honey)
---
Term Definitions
(X) = ‘you gave to me’

Emerald green, every

(Q) = ‘day’ [minutes, months, years, all my life and beyond that] = ∞ = Infinity (which we don’t have) = 0

And you knew

(V) = ‘i’

+ t was empty/hollow
---

es que había pensado
es que había pensado
en lo que quedaba de él --

the pain he stirred like coffee, bitter in white-hot noons
about the lips that once brushed his.

Se sentó, pensando, en este rincón where glass cups brewed migraines
and left sangre on knuckles that didn’t speak.

Eyes trained not to look too long,
at tables that turned to ashes quickly.

Gente que conocía, bonds that aged like spoiled butter
yellow and sour
rotting on the floor of a confined space. --

Fue entonces cuando vio el papel, a note,
folded with a line that could cut. esperando.

"What have you buried, and what have you clawed at
with fingernails packed with dirt?
A member of the circle no muere tan fácilmente.
And you should know that, shouldn’t you… Saturn?”

Mierda.