January 12, 2012
By miazanette BRONZE, Nazareth, Pennsylvania
miazanette BRONZE, Nazareth, Pennsylvania
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"History is a little man in a brown suit trying to define a room he is outside of.
I know history. There are many names in history, but none of them are ours."
-Richard Siken

We dragged the bodies down the wrong side of the road

And stacked their bones like an exhibit behind museum glass.

I remember our hands were too cold to light our cigarettes

So we held them above the bumper of our redhanded Chevy,

Breathing white air onto our fingers around a campfire of exhaust.

Somewhere down the way a lone bird cried a primal warning.

The ground hummed with distant wheels on gravel moving quickly.

Our lofty shoelaces chained our shoes to our feet; frozen to the scene.

Chewing nails down to skin, wrapping scarves like nooses around our necks-

You were the cops, we were the robbers.

You were the prisoner, we were the jail.

Hands crossed for icy handcuffs though none had come yet

So we tied our frosted breath tight inside our shivering body bags.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!