Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Chemical

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Oh,

here she comes again

that bird who reprimands me

in the dark

tallons claw at my stomach

etching in the gospel according to mark;

She’s buried

underneath fall’s forgotten,

rotten leaves

huddled in their mass graves

of concrete

To everyone they are dead

—but they are not dead to me.

Cancer of the throat;

cells multiplied from the gloat

and now she cannot sing

but sits and stares, stares, stares

through a torn bastard wing

where the hell do you come from?

I do not pity you,

I didn’t ask for your wedding ring

or is this all deja-vu?





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback