We kill pretty things

By Donna Acosta San Juan

The Centennialight

In this soliloquy of life

There’s a candle that frequents the darkness of each cave and darkness of a poor mind 

Shining against the cool, ashen skin that has been deprived of anything but cruelty for so long

We are burgundy, violet and midnight blue 

Comprised in a universe where each lie is more convenient than each truth;

We are the stars and the things that kill them. 

Reality is the brisk wind that travels through our dreams 

Through tangerine forests and waves that kiss

The land with sweet droplets of crystals, 

Worshiping undeserving skin that brushes it away instead of letting the dew linger and love

From the skies, birds fall along in unison with each and every disaster 

Mourning each loss

It is sharp, it lingers. 

We are the stars and the things that kill them