Sobering Up This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

January 18, 2013
We were young once, burning bridges
like they housed our hearts,
milk fangs at each other’s wrists.
Couldn’t we call it art?

We swore on our brothers and sisters
that destruction
made the oceans swell,
that lunar phases and lunacy
were secrets we’re meant to tell.

But by the time
we were swallowed by greys,
we realized we were human
that we, too,
could not outrun the blaze.

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