The bedsheets feel heavy Against My chest Hot Encumbered Premonitions of the day ahead Like mites Unseen terrors Hungry Ready to feast on my dying corpse I am dying For want of cool morning air to hit my face But I'm afraid of the bruise the day will make.
I like sitting in my room, looking at the mounting pile of books on my bookshelf turn into bookshelves. Past memories of swashbuckling pirates and navy admirals in tow. Memories of barbed wire scratches and tales of silver and gold. Memories of love lost and found in the strangest and familiar places. I watch as … Continue reading My Last Chapter
A child plucked from the arms of a loved one Arms outstretched towards a fading silhouette A mother with an emptied womb wanders a quiet street Feeds an umbilical through her hands Tugging At the root to find her blossom Hoping to hear her baby cry A rootless rose but the thorns still draw blood … Continue reading A Seed on Concrete Ground