A “fake love poem” by which I mean using a rhetoric of passion/ infatuation to write about mental health. This is written from the perspective of panic personified “as a lover”.
We kissed. You fell.
It was just a navy puddle, swaying on an autumn afternoon.
You stepped into my mind.
A bell trap of bored ghosts.
A kitchen of melting pans.
A temple of chaos.
Blood rush took you further away and around.
Swooping down like a thirsty silver bird, the rain came and broke the mirror scattering liquid you left me for the golden trees over there.
I couldn’t quite see you…
I cannot even catch the scent.
Exhausted, I sleep in circles.