SAND
- Dark Poets Club
- Jul 30, 2025
- 1 min read
By Megan Romaine
Bill The Butcher asks “Do you have the sand?”
“Do you have the sand necessary to keep going in this miserable hell that is your continued existence?”
Although I often think about ending it all, a backup plan should every last attempt fail, a comforting thought on cold, dark nights, the way most people like to plan summer holidays ;
I also take grim satisfaction in not giving in, outlasting everyone like a two legged cockroach. Standing on the cliff edge screaming into the wind “I’m still here mother fuckers! You can’t lose me that easily”
For better or worse, I’m tenacious, determined, a Jack Russell terrier digging it’s way into a tiny hole, a wolverine after much larger prey. I’m too damn stubborn and headstrong to die.
I am made of steel and sand. A sword is my backbone, knives form my ribcage. I have enough sand to make a beach!
When the day of judgement comes, I’ll walk up to God and spit in his face through teeth bloodied by yet another beating given to me by life.
Yes Bill I have the sand, though every day I live with the pain of it, the grit rubbing the wounds, bruises and scars...on lesser mortals it would wear them down; smooth their edges and dull their points. Not so me, it will file mine, furnishing me with spear tips and arrows.