Little Secrets.rtf /// forgiven life is yet forgotten

... As inside the golden locket, where all walls glitter with delight and yet howl with empty ache of the past...

.sits a doll øff two parts. 

A part of life forgiven    ||   A part of life forgotten

The doll, inside the glitter halls or ice and gild is barefoot on a fiery throne. Inside her eyes so many mirrors. She sits and ponders, trying to pull the gaps and cracks together. With winged horses in her hair. And air beneath her feet. Inside the sand she stores her memories, like secrets in her childhood under glass domes.

In soil. Her past.

Wishing for frequencies that are distant and imagined.

Inside her locket.  Inside the glitter walls.

Where air is filled with magic blossoms.

And nothing even dies.

A part of life forgiven 

She swipes away the soil and glances inside the little marvels. Little domes she called secrets. Messages hiding past reckonings.

Flowers and texts, joys and stones. Parts of hair and nails. Blood tissues and healed patches, on particles of skin. Hopeful, little sacrifices of the past.

In hope.

That some day, she can find them, heal them, feel them and see things frozen in time yet changed to a blessing. 

The soil was carved with knifes and fingers. Fresh and warm, rich and fertile. Glass domes heal the heat. Preserved life.

|| Life forgiven. Yet. Forgotten ||

A part of life forgotten

With trees of ash and blue colour came the storm.

Forceful in its doing. It turned a part of her into a locked. It cracked walls and halls in the making of such an elaborate shell. As a result creating something stronger, yet a little foreign. Something empty eyed. With a strong grip. Something that managed to let other parts be dormant, hidden in many chambers. In many wall. In glitter and fire. In wind and water. In soil and dirt. 

With magic as such. Small peaces kept moving in the air. Forcefully and slowly. Sometimes gently. Sometimes they roared and howled. Painfully tearing peaces of domes , shattering particles of memories that hold the locked together. Markings of life

|| forgotten. yet. Forgiven ||

Good night and god Bless,

Yours,

Sonia Dietrich

S T O N E P O W D E R E D K N U C K L E S

 

I had a stone. Inside. Deeper then I should have.

Covered in tongues. Untouched powdered knuckles. 

You became hallow. Emptied something. Strongly insisted,

inwards motions. 

Then came the storm. 

They changed my intake dosage towards the downfall of chemical pirate.

I substitute. 

Look into windows and speak in tongues. Borrowed. My pain. 

Sustainable electric culture. 

Your frown painted in lipstick marks. Perhaps wished, was not mine. 

Melodramatic interlude. Paranoid exaggeration in syllables. 

I wish? I had a dream. One. Sustained. Focused. 

in me 3 to 5 = 1

my heart. 

loosing count of doors knocked and pages started. 

Many faces never one voice. I don’t feel like I do but then you don’t.

In me, there is a stone. Deeper then should have….

Serpentine and concessions. Looking glass and pupils dilated in the beginnings,

turns. Water fountains and fairytales changed

raw chunks of perforated veins. 

Hands behind my head, hand behind my head! Burning eyelids

...breath. 

Calculated minutes. Barriers and voids canceling each-other.

You can try on the nothing,

have a stone. Deeper then I had to.

In psychotic swirls of echo, screaming joints and broken tangents

licking censorship;

not too much, not too much. Exploding vocal cords,

compression, suction. Stitch!

Daylight brings the best in people, suffocating in polished petty. 

Who one is. 5 option with expiration dated.

Made all up, top that. Now that you know,

I had a stone. Inside. Deeper then I should have.

 

Good Night and God Bless,

Queen of Disorder,

Sonia Dietrich
www.soniadietrich.com