A SURVIVAL GUIDE TO REMINISCING

By Ella Alsop

A wet swallow muffles a cry,

Before the maw of something unseen

closes upon its neck

and it is silent once more.

A hidden carcass

under the derelict bridge

of someone else’s childhood.

Best to watch your step,

Breathe through the splintering

glass piercing your feet if you can.

The smell of blood muted by the putrid aroma,

The cries of pain, less so.

You are not the first to venture here.

Not all of it is glass.

Wind batters against the chains;

Loosely hanging vertebrae

aching in the slick night air.

There is little shelter here.

Exposure slips in through wounds

raw and burning,

Pulsing under your skin.

Bite back bile

And cast further into the black still.

Find damp, flaking promises

and smeared propaganda

Plastered on the wooden stakes,

Held together by twisted, oil slick chords

Coiling among the asphalt.

You won’t be able to read it,

You shouldn’t try.

Perhaps light would offer solace

But this place has known little

other than the spluttering sickness

of gangrened gas lamps for some time.

A crawling feeling at your nape

Suggests coldly perhaps

it is better

not to look

at all.

#darkpoetsclub