pleading with nonexistent existentialists i lay with my mouth agape red hair used to mould that form into lust but i do not wish for that kind of pleasure i wish to be carried away by my own hand to fall so deep into simple sadness that my skin dries out and my lips peel off and my eyes are found empty bloodshot with lashes glued together by salt i imagine a bliss where light fills every crevice in my teeth my tongue the place where my lips used to be everything that i fear the glow tugs at my voice urging me to cry out pleading with my throat to breathe i ponder the possibility of death how blood could splatter not only my skin but the lives of my beloveds too so called darlings who see in me hope who see in me a rope to hold on to if i tie that rope into a noose who is to say they will not use it? who is to say i would not be responsible so instead i hold onto the threads of nonexistent existentialists and hold off from killing my darlings another day.
Oona Haskovec is a writer based in San Francisco, California. He writes about inner worlds and tiny unimportant things. His work has been previously published with Synchronized Chaos, K’in Literary Journal, and Nightjar Literary Magazine.