Dust to Stars

synanpses 3
By Alisha Attella

She’s dying from the top down, she says.

Letting the bright white creep from her crown
so you’ll see the end of it all, growing in
like long star’s arms dancing and twined through the jet black.
Determined to meet with her ears and back.

She says this humanness is all too much.
That when she sits real close, her heart pounds
straight through her ears to cover for
her fear of you and your revulsion.

She’s worried that you hear the heartbeats too
mixed with her body’s gurgle and sway.
Its smells wall her in, and she’s worried
that you’ll lean away from the bricks and mortar
made of breath, and underwear, and sweat.

She knows that anyway, someday soon
her bad tooth will crack like crème brule.
She knows that you’ll turn quick away
and she also knows that she would too.

So, she’s shutting it all down.
Letting it all go to dust inside;
bones, muscles, belly,
lungs, brain, and heart.

Emptied, she’ll drop like sackcloth tarp.
All that you’ll see then is that star on top,
reaching up to release it all back to the sky.
Up where nothing feels, or sounds, or smells,

It just shines.

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