Tableau Vivant
ROSIE BOGUMIL
(Content warning: Mental illness)
Sadness has a certain scent to it,
invisible to the ignorant.
If it were a candle, then
the flame would be an act of self-denial,
pronouncing itself only
as hurt
or lonely
or heartbroken.
I am no artist;
I choose to work
with words over oils
but allow me to paint you
a most vivid picture:
dirty dish castles topple
beer bottles and bowls
chipped and weary victims
which lie forgotten
wearing last month’s pasta
overflowing ashtrays
sprinkle flakes on dirty sheets
tossed amongst clean comrades
sheets soaked with body musk,
with blood from sharpened sins
sour milk
soft carrots
soggy cheese
stale everything
and someone else's happiness
waft from the broken fridge
to the catatonic body
in the bedroom
waiting to be spoon fed
the next dose of emotional regression
“ONE capsule TWICE daily”
“THREE in the morning”
“TWO tablets pro re nata”
losing yourself is found
in bottles far too small for alcohol
HIGH RISK; WEEKLY PICKUP.
the closest thing to toothpaste
is those tablets.
tasting faintly of mint
they stick to the sides
of the throat like the kind of clag
used by kindergarteners to immortalise
the latest craft project
or poorly repair the tears
in the only family photograph
where we all smiled,
a picture that tastes like salt
from the tears which coursed
and were caught along
os lamina papyrecea
Imagine: a divine being designs
a grooved bone to prevent
humans drowning in their own tears.
Can you smell it yet?
︎Together with her entourage of neuroses, Rosie Bogumil writes unapologetically about her experiences of trauma and mental illness. When she's not writing, studying or asleep, Rosie can usually be found in a yoga inversion, exploring the viability of a career as a bat – in case the whole poet thing falls through. You can find more of her work on Facebook and Instagram @byrosiebee︎