the second half, right?

by Anya Millard

Time is cruel

She’s a butterfly flitting through a gossamer mirror

A lumbering creature follows her, pushing helplessly through silvery mercury

A thousand diamond hands pushing back instead of holding on

Going limp instead of pulling closer


The inevitable is here

Reincarnated into the next year, and karma proves deserving



push ahead of 



with the inevitable incoming 


and leave 


in their wake


Glimmering pyramids never withstood the weight they were designed to carry

The brush of a butterfly and the facade of the last is merely glass shards on a floor too pristine to be genuine

One two one two three two one two one breathe

A butterfly’s wings decay in the time it takes for me to pin them below glass


What’s sweet is quickly bitter pine

A delicate lie

A thin veneer of photosynthetic gossamer


Maybe the juniper beneath my tongue was meant to echo

in my ears, 

the backs of my eyes, 

my mouth, 

my nose, 

my ankle, 

my knuckles, 

my neck, 

my heart

my mind,

“have you seen how I smirk I do it for you when did I last really laugh it feels like years don’t you deserve it what if that’s a lie you’ll never create the narrative you torture yourself for you’re really not that bad you read in too much stop lying stop lying you’re fine you’re fine”


I’ve always dreamed of shaking hands with Saturn and asking for my heart back

Nobody told me a cacophony could be so quiet

Maybe I should have known

After all, Time is cruel and Betty wants to know how long almost sixteen years is