Morning After

By Kaitlyn Sun

Anticipation,

the viscous spell that draped the air 

and glued together the fractured days –

an arbitrary seven –

into the semblance of a casket

where inside I die in many ways 

except for actual death,

cracks at the golden hour

when the walls are licked with gold. 

Death curls like a dog,

crawling inside my pores to dig, dig

and empty me out

as he licks a sunset between my legs

and I whimper like a bitch,

and he, not knowing what it is about,

thinks that I have been filled up

so, he takes his fill

and again, I am alone with the dog. 

Alone,

after the extinguished sighs and breath

my hollow bones are laid to rest

on the shores of a restless sleep

where, in the end, I always swim back,

and grief is an unwelcome guest

who keeps me company in the grey light

when I am left mourning, after

the morning after.

Kaitlyn Sun (she/her) is a Chinese-Australian, bisexual poet from Perth, Western Australia. She also goes by Sad Magical Girl. Kaitlyn has lived experience with mental health issues and her writing reflects on both her individual experiences as well as the broader brushstrokes of what it means to be human.

You can read more of her work on her Instagram page @sad.magical.girl