Saydra Basta
Saydra Basta Poems
The space between realities widens like the fingers of a clocks hand
How truth and frivolity can be one and the other, inseperable and distant
Was time the culprit?
Or were you?
...
Catatonia
I'm only awake in the dark
Caught in a half lucid stupor
Staring at my veins
...
The heat of the sticky summer evenings
Drenches you
Like the sickly sweet juice of a peach running down your chin
And tracing the edge of your neck
...
The dizzying rush of a burning secret
Forces me to sit down with the demon that brought me here
But for now she is pleasant company
A welcome parasite
...
Crush petals into powder
And rub it deep into my skin
Absorb the pigment into my veins
Make me beautiful on the inside
...
Measure my weight in sweet n low packets
And divide me by the digits on the nutrition label
It's an illness you can count in numbers
It's not food
...
Lonely is not a big enough word
Lonely doesn't tell what lonely is
It says only "one"
But doesn't count
...
There is a bitter liberation in being unwanted
It's a melancholic reminder that when you cease to exist, so too the expectations of you
It's easier to accept than except
You simply are,
...
A monument to his desire
His calloused hands round out her ivory curves
Perfect, he whispers
Mine, he groans
...
In death awaits the nothingness of hell
The empty air, the frozen midnight sky
The soundlessness you thought you could repell
But now you shriek so silent as you die
...
Saydra Basta Biography
I promise I'm not as depressing as my poems)
The Best Poem Of Saydra Basta
Questions For The Way Things Were
The space between realities widens like the fingers of a clocks hand
How truth and frivolity can be one and the other, inseperable and distant
Was time the culprit?
Or were you?
Has the world changed?
Or have you?
Which was simple and which was nuance?
Can it have been both, neither?
The palate of memory paints in golden hue, a gift and an unforgivable offense to the reality you kept. A lie and a truth, indistinguishable. Blended. And you think, maybe they weren't separate to begin with. You remember it better than it was because now is worse than you expected.
Can't remember when the colors were lost. What day was it when the world stopped being an adventure? When the promise of future became the dread of doing? Was it the morning, when you gazed between warm sheets of orange and yellow, that the sweet breath of anticipation grew stale and choked you, left you wheezing and gasping for reprieve? Was it the sweltering heat of noon that singed your nubile skin and drank up the waters meant to replenish you? Was it the night when the stars that guided you extinguished, throwing you to the cold expanse of space, so empty and alone? Or perhaps when you were sleeping that the dreams stopped coming and the rest was but a void between voids?
Those hands rip that Technicolor world into tiny untraceable shreds that float far beyond your reach. Lost to you and to eternity. Pin it down though you may try, you lose more pieces than you keep. It doesn't belong to you. It never did.
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4/24/2024 9:25:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
