Lullabies in Dead Languages: Prose Poetry

This year morgues served welcome drinks no one ever wanted. We inclined towards ice skating, tiptoeing with skates on sheets of paranoia and uncertainty. Silly! You don’t tiptoe on ice, you will plummet like snowflakes that never had the chance to twirl magically in a Disney movie.



You will arrest yourself in wormholes that never learned to break the fourth wall. The walls will try to befriend you with fading necromancy of healing and promises made in dead languages. You are swirling in a blackhole like a water park ride that never ended and you are desperate. So damn desperate for an escape from your thoughts, a for else loop of non-terminating numbers.

You are an insomniac cadaver, enchanted by the aura of life whispered in a language without subtitles. Those whispers cradle you to sleep when birds start chirruping and you listen to them on loop, skipping all the songs in your Spotify playlist named “reality”. You listen, you listen as they slowly choke you like the sleeping pills your mother is addicted to. The claustrophobia spreads in your intestines and suddenly you can’t differentiate if you ate candy or mothballs. You are tired, your bed is a cold locker, and your existence a cryofreezer that Captain America can’t save.

But you listen, you listen to the dead languages spilling turpentine in your ears, who knew choking on claustrophobia was poetry coming and going like tides romancing with the moon. Your heart and mind are a frenemies trope of a cliché high school pulp fiction and when your mind apologizes to you for being a suitcase above the airport weight limit, it is hard to forgive. It is hard to forgive someone who isn’t even sorry.

Productivity is the creepy stalker on the Internet you are running away from, your poetry is in ruins. Maybe because you are starting to forget your language, maybe you are becoming fluent in a language so dead that you don’t know if you are even living. You are so tired of being tired, yet you listen, you listen.

//”Lullabies in Dead Languages”// Enigma

Copyright © 2016-2021 Enigma. All rights reserved.

Picture Credits: Enigma (Inktober 2020 Art Day 11 Disease)

Art Inspiration: This poetic excerpt was all the longings and spilled inks that I felt whilst the lockdown during 2020 and the art is inspired from those whirlpool of emotions.

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