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out of sight, out of mind's eye

Here lies my inner paranoia, would say the tomb, it'd be built on the edge of seeping shadows.




The illusion is dissolving

scrawled and plastered are tripled-vision eyes on the walls, truly imaginary

Now what has vanished besides my sense of belonging? (surely none of the bullet pointed sins)

With my vision blurred, I'm further from myself, madness growing into plain weary


d i s t r e s s

Dizzying and compressed, a vowel (e) unreplaced, one untyped letter away from grounding, yet commas are your best friend when you realize you can’t even end a sentence, much less to snuff out the fragments of yourself


Here lies my inner paranoia

would say the tomb, it'd be built on the edge of seeping shadows

Instantaneously casted by this reality in a skeletal kaleidoscope

of muted grays, chalky whites; a lowly lit agitation that unravels into a looming annoyance

to the highest degree of disarray; a beautiful doom these collar bones parallel

Toast to the insanity that lies dormant, until revealed at one’s own peril


i t ‘ s s k e w e d & a w r y

An ampersand wouldn’t comprehend and neither a shrew nor mole are around only so I could attach my misery onto them, their phalanges all shriveled while I complicate the blatant rhymes of my pent-up temper


Shared by the gaps of unfamiliarity,

disorganized and devolving mannerisms gradually

Beg sincerely to disconnect, let isolation roam erratic

Instead, focus on the skittish and spastic mechanisms hiding in the upper attic



 

Nicole Verbitsky is a 20 year-old writer from Northeast PA. A writer of bittersweet poems and the seldom short story, she also serves as a poetry editor for The Lunar Journal. At this time, her work appears in Neverland Lit and upcoming in voidspace zine. Her hobbies include overanalyzing media and reading with music in the background.



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