The Attic in The House of Soleil

Written by Callie Cheng
Art by Lany-Jade Mondou

Baby blues are skies anew that simmer
Swimming, oceanic, like those eyes,
Love you, love you, I do, I do, I tell her,
Myself, although I think I know, by next sunrise,

I’ll be an eagle, drifting, lullaby, beneath
The conquered, frameless, punctured shapes of souls,
Where girl, she died, taking full her breaths,
A woman scarred by time, scooped empty, empty, eaten bowl.

The wrinkles map your skin where life, she’ll touch,
And love her with your body you do, you do,
Making moans as at, her flowing locks you clutch,
But slips like water, burning bones, and shriveling you.

I think that we’d do best to die, but better yet,
We live, I live, and endless hurting hold it in,
Because I don’t think that I’ll have truly met
You, loved you, until I’ve killed you with my own two sins,

These hands that roll up a boulder to the skies
My shoulders strong beneath what heaven weighs,
I swear that I am Sisyphus, I swear I’m going to die.
I bleed here on the knife I picked, and choose to day by day.

I wonder where the rainbow ends and when he’ll sire with the sun,
An ending for my withering hands and aching flesh,
I wonder, wonder, when I’ll finally be done,
When I’ll be sorry to the body that my soul’s a-meshed,

With pain, with whips, and flaming tongues,
Lashed within by the silent tremors here made mine
By me, I’m sorry, sorry you were young,
And that I drank that youth up as I traced this line,

To the ocean that, we’ve drowned beneath,
A thousand seas, and mirths, and pains,
I think it’s funny how I choked you with a wreath
Of my own words, and for courting Nike, blood mine drained.

I think we try too far, too hard, to run along,
The hands of time, to race against with the golden king,
As Helios beckons us to dance his song,
To make upright our broken knees, and waltz around his solar ring.

I’m tired, you say, of the water seeping in my bones,
Of choking, drowing, flailing, screaming into gags and chains,
Aching like a muscle under the golden mountain of your throne,
And I’m sorry that I laugh at you and stab you more with pain.

But maybe one day we’ll make peace.
I think it lies there, someday where I suffocate,
In clouds and sleep and happy; where the lease
Is mine and ours alone, a silent fate,

Where there’s no need to rise again,
Where you won’t have to kneel and wake at day,
And heed the beckon of moon, sun, when
I’ve freed us from the attic in The House of Soleil.