Old, dead things give birth,
and in the pangs of it I writhe,
heart swells; as if to burst its seam,
submerged in two extremes.
Twisted knife, in burnt flesh,
searing and tearing the meat from the bone,
and I scream, and feel my hands through the dark,
grasping onto what slithers, beneath the pale moon sky.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PuisiPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
