Her Lips

[TW: Gore, Death]

Her tense lips puckered,

grapefruit taut against

the unruly hooks

of pumpkin hair.

Feeding on Helios’ breaths,

lanky roots itched

as hot whispers licked

at the once burly web.

A joke of a circus,

juggling clown noses

and ivory stallions.

They reached his sky,

spiraling

with sweltering air.

The comical balloon

tilted

taunting

the woman.

A courtesy gesture,

its crimson ribbons with their tense toes

balanced along caved-in lines

rippling her feather gown.

Her lips drew to a grin.

Challenged to

tip

toe

among nails

that littered the wood panels.

A third step,

fifth

and eighth,

she made it.

It tilted again

bells clattering

as their edges bore bare feet.

The woman ate the jester,

agonized giggles scraping

funny walls,

no pun to compare.

Pigeon feet twaddle

fluttering until wings stop,

tangled in string.

She hung,

bottom in Helios’ fingers.

Janky joints,

the balloon’s rope

mirrored her;

a mere

doll.

An irrelevancy

unable

to parade rope

to hear the clamor of applause.

Too far into clouds,

the god tasted bitter.

Knife thrown,

puncturing the tent,

the circus burst.

Ringmaster’s coat

crumpled

elephants

rumbled

leaving tumblers

unbundled.

The pungent ruckus unbuckled

knots that lay on her skin.

Back hitting arena

she stayed,

a nailed insect

wings withering

as the balloon embraced soil.

Merriful Helios vacated

radiant sun,

his horse chariot contrasting

the pits

of deceased creatures.

Her lips froze ajar

coral flesh framing,

the only colour.

Bree Chen is a Creative Writing student at OCADU with pronouns they/them. The central category their work fits into is poetry - but that doesn’t mean to say they won’t dip their toes in prose or other forms of writing too. These poetry pieces submitted mimic the random words that cross their mind; with trigger warnings for gore, blood, and death.