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Tag: 2022

(Poems) – limbo

On June 4, 2022April 30, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve lost my way, but still found myself here. It’s a colorless, formless place.  It creeps like fog, but it bites like fire.  It consumes me like it wants me, like it needs me, and I’m too tired to refuse.  I’ve lost the lines between who I was and who I want to be.  Blood …

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(Poems) – To (you)

On May 28, 2022April 30, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, Writing1 Comment

I’m not sure who I’m talking to anymore.  It’s you, obviously, but I don’t know who you are.  God doesn’t know who you are.  The best window into a person is through the ribcage, not the eyes.  Could you be (future) me? Those who I love (have loved?).  A friend I’ll make, or one I’ve …

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(Poems) – gray ohio

On May 21, 2022May 21, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

trapped beneath a rolling gloom, tasting the blooming death. we sit beneath a blinking sun, because hatred grows best in this soil and we relish the bite of winter thorns and blood-soaked billboards. what else grows here but corn and asphalt and steel? what else does heat do but leave?

(Poems) – white dwarf

On May 14, 2022April 30, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve lost so much of myself.  I reach for hydrogen beneath a trillion twinkling eyes and find nothing.  So much of me is gone.  The iron and sulfur and magnesium and neon.  It’s so much darker now.   What’s left— the things I used to love— sit in me as merciless reminders.  Accomplishments turned to mockery.  …

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(Poems) – photon violin

On May 7, 2022April 15, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

Our room is tangled with light.  Orange and yellow threads of gold twist and intertwine, and I run my fingers through them as if they were your hair, catching on knots and worries that you wake up with every day.  I will do my best to free them, to allow the strings to vibrate and …

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(Poems) – city of specters

On April 30, 2022April 30, 2022 By bensidorenkoIn Poems, WritingLeave a comment

I’m seven years old and  we’re going home in the  dark.  driving six hundred miles without a light in the sky. the seat beckons with  stiff comfort and you will never feel this peaceful again. columbus ohio is a scattered dream or ruined film.  the stars have fallen into the streets like dead gods and …

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