pretty poisonous
poem published in Meer Magazine in September, 2024.
Pretend to end the war so you feel like the hero
Want a Nobel peace prize but need a war to slay first
So you birth one — while I drown
In blank verse waiting for a lifeline.
So sick of us of you of not seeing eye to i, i to eye,
Eye to eye, i to i i i —
Hate my subconscious for making you star in all of
My brain dump art minus the art is the dump we live in;
In sickness not in health we murdered the “we” with twee
There is no seeing through each others’ POV —
I would rather marry the bed marry the night
Marry my star crush my candy crush my blue light. Yet this
Immortal sympathy I have beating in me is the most
Annoying miracle there is. Must have been written in
Constellations before the dumb particles of my dumb soul
Found my tiny body. Mind split with infinite realities shutting
Her in analysis paralysis.
I should have made more done decisions
Than hold on to your hallucination within your
Arrhythmic bipolar red-pumping organ. How
Horrifying to find all those digital nude dolls on all devices
Should have left you to your own devices so you could self-terminate.
The red hearts leave all the marks of a lazy hunter looking for
A mindless dopamine rush to call himself a winner.
Became a camera a mirror recording betrayal by multiplying them all
Like Jupiter;
No matter how sinister I am leaking all these tears even as
They blur my vision. Hate myself for not hating you more than I
Should. I have no capacity for it — should be proud.
I should celebrate my heart for staying strong amidst
This turbulence this war you keep provoking keep poking at
Like a slap —
You are the master of all of the vices all of the crisis
Not so noble a reason. You are doomed you are cursed you are
The villain, the hero. Who is behind this spineless
Leech feeding off on sincerity with your a sweet abuse.
A serenading calamity more more more
Is the goal digging yourself a
Hole honey.
At this pace you’ll end up in your very own death
Spiral money —
Is not a god; invented by mere mortals we are a lost cause.
I am giving you the shivers with the voice I found after you’ve
Cut my chords cut the off electricity of the mic off the record
Cross the line the hype the heights wuthering, lighting me up.
Get Beril Çelik’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
That very voice which identity am I speaking
To which delululand are you in dear my dear my dear
My dear.
How did —
I let you so close to my heart if i didn’t have an anti-fragile one
I would not have come back from the thousand deaths you’ve put
Me through. Days are hells in heaven with you ptsd is now an
Armor I am not within your vicinity I am dating new horizons.
Will you end him or will you save him from himself schizophrenia.
This metallic responsibility towards an adult baby;
Metallic like the blood in my mouth. Unblock
My throat chakra so i can murder you with mere words instead
Of chewing on shards and fire with an iron jaw gifting me insomniac
Migraines.
I’ve birthed in my crib crying for the air you’ve stripped me off swept
Me off my feet putting my little foot down my boot down my shoot
Down down down why are you so down for your doomsday if i don’t
Save you from yourself who will no one else will bother entering
An extravagant shiny hell with a slimy shell
No one will care for cleaning after your
Mess this serpentine spinelessness
All this messy act without dark drapes to
Impress.
How do you stay so liquid with an illiquid heart
Filling every cup you’ve met with deepfake and regrets.
I am done with diss murderous mission I would rather kill
Another dollar bill than die a martyr looking noble with
Being your savior took me a decade to see the seeping
Radiation permeating though my veins my
Being you became my blood my sweat my
Tears I could not distinguish where you ended & where I
Began without any boundaries i’ve made your fire my cave
My safe haven my brain —
Mistaken bliss for death. Peace for war
Internal. Bleeding to death over and over.
Just to find out I’m alive still —
Praying for an annoying miracle
To come out of my pain-body
But end up with little deaths here and there,
Sprinkled with disgust and sighs
Instead.
This poem was inspired by Megan Fox’s poetry book “Pretty Boys Are Poisonous” and Anne Sexton’s , “The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator”.
For more poems like this, here’s a list of some of my other published poems and my author profile below;
Reflections on ‘Rhythm 0' by Marina Abramovic
And my author profile.
“I am a collection of dismantled almosts.”
— Anne Sexton
