‘3 Poems’ by Mika Hrejsa

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Buried Beneath The Rot Of Americana, A Girl Begins To Sear The Air Around Her In Wrath

a cut in the dark and neon fuzz on the sensory
america’s addiction torching inside your skull
breath laced with viscera
the moment flares in hot tint and daggers are
bubbling up past your lips
FEAST/THE/DESIRES/DRIPPING/BETWEEN/YOUR/FINGERTIPS

you unknown danger you fanged variable
adrift between transgressions
visage stilled in a fighting stance in vulgar tableau
those demon bones grinding between your canines
and a jugular ready to burst with bane

subject of a specific violence
flicking up those winged tips in defiance
as to scream “fuck you” like its an incantation
you got a stare like a riot on the precipice

all touch eradicates into data for me now

into a digital abyss we’re falling
lost amongst the white noise of our lives
i fuck with the periphery of my existence
moments of sobriety smashed to fuckin nothing
core lit up senses at the spontaneous
filter incoherence to plain fuckin sense
caught up like we’re existing between
tv snow screams give the top layer no question
blasted out perceptions

take a breath
let yourself digitize into the soil
data distortion against the morning dew
nylon rotting alongside the worms until
another sun takes its turn
overflooded paranoia needling under the
stone

i hold my phone out to snapchat
a dead coyote corpse on its 8th day
feeding the cornfield on the town outskirts
caption reading: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN
CONDENSE LIVES DOWN TO MERE PHOTONS
sense of self stripping as i try to rip something
poetic out of from my own mind vomit

terrified daily of the daylight bleeding past
my blackout curtains i cower trying to
mind suffocate to shut out the shroud casting
a halo around our sun that’s flipping between
channels 3 and 17 turning it all to muted red
and black nonsense my eyes closed i cant stop
the visions – towering gears shifting along
unmovable levers not bare to the naked eye
as i realize im operating as a machine with no creator

psycho shutdown too much to bear and i open
my eyes to five hours past walking out to air now
glittering in binary rips that smile through the
cracks between the hydro bonds
i let the cogs punch my feet into the concrete
resting myself fetal against a wall as my vision
begins to focus robotically between the strings
of 1’s and 0’s drifting past autumn leaves
comfortably numb as i feel my body shiver and
bright nothingness begins to tear at the edges of
my vision – all clarity squeezed down to to an ethereal
tone blaring out like a radio between frequencies
a howl buried beneath the newly born realities

idle spaces

flashing my blood caked skeleton
at random cops hoping i get blasted
away for being an extra-dimensional creep

ive only existed in idle space
for seven years and im kinda dying here

engorged tentacles keep slithering from my
voided eye sockets and breaking
all of my shit

my bank account draws its
funds across the aether from a 401k in one of many
dystopian futures:

it is overdrawn by $5.37
from a purchase of approx. 7 dollars worth
of 3 ½ tuna salad sandwiches from the back
of the deli cooler at my local gas station

phantoms smile on me from beyond the
veil of atoms brimming with nonsense

an unknown bag of pills wasn’t in the corner of
my room and then im on the ground shoveling
them down my throat they are melting against
my tongue
they taste like a cyberpunk dystopia distilled
im vomiting blackness now
its sticking to everything

the liquid starts flickering with an array
of those indescribable colors you only see
on the edge of your own dreams

i peer out my window and the glass shatters inexplicably
as a slimey shadow slides back into my skull
it is difficult to perform typical tasks when one has
tendrils escaping from their face every few moments

The Police are hovering around my backyard
shoving drones powered by hellfire through my basement windows
i hang crystals incessantly around the corners
of my room lighting 7 incense sticks at once until
im suffocating enough to think i am safe

‘guilty on charges of: being a fucking
skinless creep and underwhelmingly dead’

every orifice on my body (those i am aware of)
begin leaking the blackness // my hair is clumped together
reeking of the voided substance
my face drips shadows onto my clothes
irises inversed and mouth contorted into a
look of abject apathy i remark ‘i look
like a [DEITY][GOD][DEMON][NOTHINGNESS]
ejaculated across my face, [FUCK]’

i try to step outside the perimeter of my house
and throw my arms up at The Police so ill
get fucking murked (i secretely desire the matrydom
inevitable when its found i was carrying
only my skin and bone and not an ar-15)
but as my foot passes the threshold of my
doorway i wake up on my couch with blood
oozing from the knee down

‘hell yeah here it comes’ i say as im on the
ground trying to cover my wound in dirt
my blood turns dark
the black tears stop and it pools out of that
’empty knee space’
i dont feel a thing i laugh as i realize
im the evil thats been finally defeated

my mailbox smashes through the window
impaling through my skull and p much
converting my head into mulch staining the
carpet
/I DONT FEEL A THING/

the emptiness gushing out of my knee
has turned into a thin puddle covering
my entire living room – i am going to
drown into non-existence ‘hell hell hell
hell hell hell heLL yeAH’
‘every1 loves it when the villain gets
their just deserts lmao’ – the last words
a completely crushed throat manage to
strain out
floating inside my brain soup, my eyes
perceive one more image before the abyss
makes me fuck off:

a letter – ‘we here at bank of america are kinda tired of your
weird bullshit so we’re closing your account
and a representative will be there shortly to
rummage through your corpse for the 5.37 you owe us’

the word ‘beautiful’ darts around
my absolutely !OWNED! skull a bit
beautiful
beautiful

Mika Hrejsa is a transfeminine poet from Indiana that has been writing regularly since she was a sophomore in high school, writing horror-inspired poetry that would go on to include themes of discovering womanhood and 21st century melancholy. Her twitter is https://twitter.com/tokyo_vamp and posts her work at https://medium.com/@tokyovamp.

The artist for the visual to the collaboration Buried Beneath The Rot Of Americana, A Girl Begins To Sear The Air Around Her In Wrath is Nina Kallio, a digital artist from Finland with a body of work ranging from surreal occultism to tattoos. Her twitter is https://twitter.com/spacebian

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