take it all
drain my blood
wasn’t careful
so I fell in love with everyone
numb scum
I feel
my
flesh gone
take my breath too
dice up my body
but it’s not enough
fizzy mind pops
there’s really nothing left
oh but the tombstone
use it as a foot step
forget all the memories
my bones
can be sharpened
into needles
to help make blankets
which cover all the dead words
that flew in the air like stench
the hate heats
the oven
of the earth’s core
misery measures
time flips a bird
in it’s rotten nest
I hear guilt ask
“Can you volunteer on Sunday?”
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Devil's Cut
“Comrade, finally you’re awake.” The voice was smooth, sensual. A flickering incandescent bar was all that lit the white, sterile room. All Vladimir remembered was everything going black. He tried to move his arms and found them strapped to the gurney.
By Matthew J. Fromm5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Whoa okay—this was like poetry with a blowtorch! It stings in a strangely good way.