RE: SEPT 29

By Gemma Green


a soft, prudent kill


at the end of hardened limbs


one pill, two pill


excavating eternal bondage


a churning of 200 small mistakes


the grinding of one thousand small mountains


into the dust of a fervent bolting


a delicate “what if?” on the lips of a reckless wreck


flourishing in a glowing pool of acid


pleading with her bedside


hurling into mother’s room


screeching sorrowful dependency


beleaguered steps turn into gallant strides towards the car


only to the car, the car, the car, please just get me to the car


pausing at the lawn, flooding the first visible patch of green with a tangible past life


i spoke to the spiders who convinced me i wasn’t worth the upheaval


a marionette of shame


i reclaim my phantom limb, i speak to only her now


we collude in a dream, i meet the pavement with absolution


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