Abigail Shikes

Abigail Shikes is from Colorado and has been writing since she can remember. In the future, she wants to become something with her work and do something that matters. But for now, she’ll leave it here for anyone who comes across it to enjoy.

I Don’t Dance With Devils, But I’d Dance With Her

She wears Gods around her neck like snakes
and drinks up all the venom
Her anger sets fire to dried up grass and
her skin lingers in the smoke
“It's better than feeling red.” She had said
red like the stones that were dug in her skin
red like flowers painted over in a dead man’s aroma
She dances in silk and is perfumed in stars
gallant and gracious and merciless
nothing like ours
She drags her fingers over flesh, gives
us something raw in her eyes, a pretty mess
Before she snaps the bone underneath in half
they still smile all the while
She hopes your own slick tongue
will push the plague down your
throat just to see that you tremble, that you’re alive
that your eyes didn’t close
your breath gave away the truth that
you bickered with pride, and with all of this
she feels the Earth quiver, the river, split
and she bites the inners of her cheek
as not to speak, because if she did
She’d burn the whole world down

Storms Whisper Just As Much As They Scream

There was a crack of lightning and the
dirt started dancing
From lips, saliva dripped and
fell to Earth
Where Roses grow
The moon began to watch, with intrigue
She nurtured the seeds
tears falling off sweaty cheeks
the liquid twisting muscle and cells
together
mocking the creation of a man made from stone
A slit so fine, to penetrate
the throat
and that lightning did not give up here,
as it carried the wind and broken bones
words to distant ears that refuse to hear
So, while he sat
buried underground
where he could not be afraid and did not have to know
he listened to a story of those who
cried empty nothings
and built up temples from lightning