A.W. Books & Poetry

Like needles ripping through silk gauze,

Like a piece of tissue paper-

catching fire and shriveling into dusty ash

There’s no point in remediation

a hole will be burned

There’s no point in peace,

just to run it through with a hammer

The ashes won’t fill my ears

It won’t muffle the sounds

They fall through my fingers,

back on to the black tar floor.

It swallows the pain.

It clogs the sorrow in my veins

and shields my eyes with dusty, black blooms

Their vines thick with thorns,

tarnished with tormenting treason

Their fanned-out skeletal leaves

sway in the stormy air

Don’t see the pain, and it will go away

Don’t feel the pain, just taste the rain.

-Annalise W.