Plenty of Time to Go Insane

Isabella Baldwin

Almost dead, five feet down, I saw them bury me in the ground— Hair of mud and eyes still blue, The body rots and box mildews

But my soul is not yet due.

Fingers numb and void of thrill, Not enough life to quiet and still. Now stuck between the windowpanes: One promises life, one promises pain, And plenty of time to go insane, Walk through walls and solid hearts.

Artwork by Levi Dillon

Hum eldritch love songs to the Dark, So why do your eyes look and see?

I saw you once, but you can’t see me. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.

You ask for games when you intrude On the places where I haunt and brood, So, close your eyes, let logic depart— You’ll see more, spook more in the dark Than light would ever dare impart.

A phantom touch— Heart feels the rush. A phantom fear— Shadows that leer. Only dreams can see me here.

Not haunting or cursing or dancing on bones, Just a little curious and little alone. How it is that you make it blush— This pale November skin you touch? But I promise it’s just a little crush.

Or I’m in love like Foehn winds, And it drowns me when the lights go dim. Light a match, Breaths that catch

Until the world is left in ash.

I burn it all and watch it fall Until your heart is festering, raw, Until only the stone stands And shifting sands, But nothing of these tinder feelings that haunt the land.

I won’t tell you, but my still heart beats And plays death’s cheat where shadows creep. Not worth much, is it, in day’s light? Used to pump blood that kept me alive. But now I live on moon-tide time.

Tide creeps up when the sun can’t see To wrap the night in mourning seas. You whisper secrets to hollow air, But trust that I still haunt you there. When night dawns, it won’t feel so bare.

Shadows and chills that crawl like fleas Tease and wonder why I cling to such things. “What is your heart? they sing and coo—

Really only sentimental value, But what else has a girl got to lose?

So, you’ll open your eyes and say goodbye: It’s not enough to see me cry. The light will bring your Clarity, And you’ll forget what eyes don’t see. You’re too old to make-believe.

But remember in your living sleep, Pascal’s Wager applies to me. Your doubt will seep through with moonset— Not a touch nor breath nor kiss to regret. But what is love if not a blind bet?

Doubt a found poem

We traveled afar to find Atlantis, but rivers changed course. The language turned heatedly about and started to move the other way, and You became the water— the only promise You ever made— and You led us upstream against the current against the storm.

We sit holding our helmets like rain-polished skulls. The world throbs and inflates behind the opening. Are we there yet?

We asked You a question, and You knew the answer, but your response was nothing because the person in question was yourself, and on that You were the greatest living authority, but You didn’t raise your hand.

What trophies drift downriver?

Why do You only ever travel towards your own safety? I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach 10,000 stars how not to dance. Why did You keep me waiting?

Sadness in such luxury uneaten.