by | Apr 6, 2018 | Issue Two, Poetry

Oh great bright peach burning
in my throat. You smother
my voice, feed off my breath, turning
and revolting
against me. I would rather

jab a knife and swallow blood
than lie
on my back day after day,
under that mesh maskā€¦
The hood of silence hovers
over me and at last

that blister roasting has melted to pitiful nothing.

after all the flesh lost
I am too feeble even for bathing. Clouded
with an ether of the most

basic bodily quest to keep the heart
thumping, thumping, thumping like a sick
hammer inside. The repeating
of its simple report:

How quickly,
how quickly we do go through this life.

Read more Issue Two | Poetry

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