They pump me full of meds
My brain is dead
But the thesis of theocracy says the fetus persists
Now I am a Petri dish for this life to exist
Pro-life
But is it a life worth living
They say our sins will be forgiven
Yet, we live in a hell so swell that you can’t smell the corpse rotting from the inside
As we slide down a cliff
Promised a difference
Yet, the pestilence resists extinguishment
The chains from our wrists were never removed
They were just moved
Dancing in twilight’s sorrow
For another life to borrow
Reincarnating in this refrain of pain
About the Creator
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FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
Comments (2)
I do understand their rage to some extent. It's the same rage I fear to which I might surrender as it concerns their graceless, calcified ignorance.
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