Prose

‘did you think it was about you again?’
—- ten dozen tired eyes at dusk, 5743, and a story that won’t begin. a draping under the curtained monotony, just another mind melding matrimony. a happy birthday lingering in late June’s grave. I’m fine, I’m vomiting. a vertical one hundred and eighty degrees. north no matter your venom. I’m trying, I’m adapting. just up and down and outwards of this skin. and the tropics are so frigid from out here’s perspective. this dense atmospheric fog lingering in the lungs. a steady choking, like we pay for it every time we breathe. like this dagger that stopped the bleeding in my neck. finally. the truth can come out of its ingrown spot. this same realization that ‘father’ is just another word wasted on you in the dictionary.
By h.a.laine3 months ago in Poets
"no room in the inn"
home never felt so much like home, unless i was home alone in my room, or climbing a tree, or swinging freely to my music in the backyard.
By kp3 months ago in Poets
temporary taxidermy. Winner in Poetry of the Hunt Challenge.
My hippocampus has a leak in it, and every step I take spills out a form of you I’m forced to relive. It’s more languid,
By Daniel K3 months ago in Poets
Scenery of Society by Rikki La Rouge 🇬🇧 🇨🇦
Julio, every summer you come back and make me relive these tortuous memories. Julio, do you remember the day you almost drowned? I do. Julio, I can't escape your punishment. Julio, I want to know why you cursed me. July, I remember our difficult times before July, when we couldn't start again.
By Revista XCI by Rikki La Rouge 3 months ago in Poets
In The Crosshairs . Content Warning.
Two perpendicular lines intersect a singularity forged And there At the point Transubstantiation
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Poets
Cradle of the Void
Neither here, nor there… No home in being, no shelter in existence. Neither alive… nor dead… No star in the sky, no stone upon the earth, offers me refuge.
By Nicole Moore3 months ago in Poets
Ashes of the Sun
O awake sun, Do not lie upon my bed— Stay away from me, For I fear the day When my dark, cold body Devours all your fiery locks,
By Nicole Moore3 months ago in Poets
Poems
I don’t write poems I am possessed by the them I speak for those that are otherwise silent I speak for the nonviolent I write as witness to those hemmed in on all sides
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets
More Than a Hunter
I am more than just a hunter, I am more than just a hunter, I am more than just a hunter, I am more—so much more. In the beginning, the hunt was to search for a better outlook, a better peace of mind, a belief that I was better than I felt I was. But, as is the way of these things, the hunt became so much more—it became everything, overwhelming every single part of my mortal coil. A coil stretched beyond reason with all the shit in my head, all that background and foreground distortion that caused alarm and daily intrusive thoughts of the third kind. And so the hunt shifted, as is the way with these things; it became about finding peace, finding reason, finding contentment.
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets
Light a Cigarette. Content Warning.
You burn your cigarette and with it, you burn me. My only companionis it you who scorches me, or does my cold body drink your fire, melting it, ember by ember, inside my own slow blaze?
By Nicole Moore3 months ago in Poets
Rattle Those Pots and Pans. Content Warning.
Today I was in deep thought! LOSING ALL OF OUR RIGHTS & FREEDOMS IN AMERICA IS A DYSTOPIAN NIGHTMARE! META AI “They told us we were the problem.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 months ago in Poets
The Wild Hunt
The mist rises from the moss On a silent Peaceful evening as the Last sun of the harvest sinks Into the first night of winter.
By Roderick Makim3 months ago in Poets