rocks erupted from,
or whose feet dragged stars
and stripes through muddy streets.
I know not if the throat
that birthed yells of “Death!” was mine.
I know nothing save for hunger
and the mouths I need to feed.
I know nothing save for my pockets
ringing dully with defeat.
Perched on the edge,
it is hard to not drink
deeply from the red
that burns too hot to be my own,
and watch the world
slowly turn to ash.
or whose feet dragged stars
and stripes through muddy streets.
I know not if the throat
that birthed yells of “Death!” was mine.
I know nothing save for hunger
and the mouths I need to feed.
I know nothing save for my pockets
ringing dully with defeat.
Perched on the edge,
it is hard to not drink
deeply from the red
that burns too hot to be my own,
and watch the world
slowly turn to ash.
4 comments:
This is beautiful. :')
I don't know if you did this bit on purpose, but 'feet dragging stars' has got to be the most haunting imaging in here... aside form the obvious connotations of an American flag. Feet dragging stars. What the fuck are stars doing on the ground. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the world is on you and you've given up. That this what it's come to, get with it.
This is my favourite out of the three, and I told you I'd read it out at an event and I did.. there was a collective awe of silence in the room and then then smiles the kind that say 'wow, I don't know what to say but thank you.' So, thank you.
My favourite.
Oh God.
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