it's calling, it's screaming;
don't you hear it, don't you—
claw at your throat, heart revealer;
don't you realize, don't you—
choking on ashes, screaming light;
don't you notice, don't you—
pillow soft dreams, devil's towers;
don't you see it, don't you—
this is what we dream of, textbook promises;
a chance to be our own young martyr,
to slit a throat & stop a heart &
etch our name into the rain.
- a. ; 7.25.21
YOU ARE READING
shoebox | a poetry collection
Poetry" 𝑖'𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒙 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝒃𝒆𝒅. . . " - a collection of poems written by yours truly - " . . . 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 . "
