marry me (on runescape)

 craft me                               a diamond ring

to keep safe          in my inventory

take me                 on a honeymoon

to a members’ only server

let’s make out      in the enchanted valley

its thick reeds      its arctic pines

its pixelated waterfall        only accessible                                  

via fairy ring

buy me papaya                   steal me doughnuts

               from the baker’s stall

let me trade them                              for cheap jewels    

let me saunter      around the woods

killing imps          chopping oaks

bake me loaves    of fresh bread

to eat with cheese               and cured meats

               let me become     

a leggy blonde      in pink and gold robes                                    

bestow upon me  your high stat account

your paid membership      kill some demons

get me the hottest armour in the village

what if we kissed in the dungeons?

ha ha jk                unless…………

pawn me off         as a prized possession                      

sell me                  to the wizards

let me become      a cloud

               of pure chaos energy

leave me                              to the dragons     

with low xp          in the deep wilderness           

I’m into it                            break me right                    down

and build me        back up

teleport me           back to   Lumbridge

feed me                 sailfish soup

brand new            like nothing happened

give me                a pair of rainbow boots

earned                  on a long quest

give me                bones    

cast a spell            turn them to peaches

               give me                 your worst

test your morality                             on me

send me               your safe word

via chat interface               hack my account

steal my                               username            

my identity          until I do not exist             

until                      I am

an internet ghost

the cloudy echo   of a personality

               a collection

of cookies

crumbling slowly

into cyberspace

guided meditation

 you are at a country piss up                            the cows and horses have gone to sleep      the garage walls are made of Fleetwood Mac                    you have had just enough whiskey and put yourself to bed                in your boyfriend’s king single with the pastel wool blanket                     and second-hand duvet that smells of skin and cum                       but in a nice way                like getting your period when you have no plans                     and you’ve treated yourself by           turning on the heat pump               and there’s a jug on the boil                            all set to be fed into a hotty               the garage light seeps         under the door like heaven          you can still hear Stevie but             it’s fine  you can sleep easy               knowing that your boyfriend is still               running around the garage in nothing but his threadbare undies  and a motorbike helmet              you puked in the sleep-out toilet     like eighteen months ago                and everyone joked that you had to clean it                  but they weren’t joking                     and nobody cleaned it        and the little chunks have crystallized         stuck on for good                like diamantes hot glue gunned onto a denim jacket                            you kind of don’t mind      it means that nobody will forget you were there                         like how bears grind all up on trees in spring                              you wonder if your boyfriend will go to piss soon and think of you     he lost his voice after Blood on the Tracks and now   is doing his best to croak along to ‘Tusk’     as sleep sneaks    near like a debt collector or the tooth fairy those tom-toms beat into your brain hypnotic your boyfriend is probably wiggling his bits in his friend’s sister’s face again hips in orbit o how he loves to cut a rug you’ll have a talk with him tomorrow maybe in front of the fire after the fifth action movie maybe over a mince pie and a just juice bubbles his vocal fry beams through the walls–JUST SAY THAT YOU WANT ME–there it is gorgeous a snow-globe set to life all sound is the gold strip of light under the door you take a long breath snuggle deep tomorrow you’ll feel even better

Leah Dodd is a painfully online MA Poetry student at the IIML who loves butternut snaps and bad rom-coms. Her work can be found in Starling, Stasis, Food Court, Poetry NZ, Milly Mag, and other places.