My work:
Patheos,
The Job, The Space Between Us, Green,
The Unlikely Bounty, Straight Love, The Heart Factory, The Half Paper Moon, I am Bexley and Atonement by JMS Books
Silent Bites by Eukalypto
death is not an imploded star Or a warped galaxy that swoons into a black hole The poets are jerking themselves off when they describe death like that I think
By Melissa Ingoldsby2 days ago in Poets
I have a tendency of violence Flash Frozen in a tenuous consumption of a dewy, red feast How I preferred to serve your deer meat
By Melissa Ingoldsby4 days ago in Poets
I’ve long waited to write this But now it’s over due My words that felt so strong Are brittle and broken, so torn He mocks me for all the torment of being struck
By Melissa Ingoldsby13 days ago in Poets
grey sky, I’m grey-cold Wind chimes soothe ice water song Night ember flickers.
By Melissa Ingoldsby15 days ago in Poets
Record plays near bed Dad reads to me in soft words Soothes my cold away.
By Melissa Ingoldsby23 days ago in Poets
“Dan, I used to have this job... it was weird...” “Weirder than you already are?” “Shut it! This is serious.” “I bet, Arturo.”
By Melissa Ingoldsby25 days ago in Fiction
A star’s soul is full Its beam tears me in cold bits Wolf howls—I’m warm now.
By Melissa Ingoldsby25 days ago in Poets
this is it, the end, the fire you firmly placed inside of my mouth slowly burning my will to talk To have a real song it was cleared by your fiery pyre
By Melissa Ingoldsby26 days ago in Poets
there is a hatred boiling deep inside I try to seep it out like oil bubbling in the ground In eyes alike, I find a hatred similar in taste
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a month ago in Poets
I never had a name until my father gave me one, As he made his hands dance on the cave walls that shadowed the rippling flames into funny animals and shapes
inside: Pyrovia the catastrophic blistering, angry pyre that built me up Now, it is lit high up inside of my mouth instead of in my gut
I’ve become a butcher of words Bloody cadavers that scream in pain Then pass out for hours Half-dead, half-alive I used to believe I was actually a surgeon, words that laid out a symphony in laser-precision
