105 Readings | 1 Rating

Sick Scents

There’s no erasing in this game.
A red among pinks.
Or, a pink among reds, if we talk wine.
It’s boring to say We Die
Alone. It doesn’t just mean you are the only one
dying. You are in coin-eyed company, god
pieces glistening as they exit
the thing they thought was them. Dear friend,
hold hand, trace life line & crow’s foot.

What you leave is not you.
What you see is not you.
What you think is not you.
We are a human web together.
I want to be better
at experiencing alone
physically, with feelings.
We are uncomfortable with these things.
There’s no erasing in this game.
I would rather not white out, I want to see the rings,
the fires, the droughts, the wet years.
I want to smell dust and musk.
No wonder those walled into bone feel alone.
Recall the smell of drilled teeth,
sick scents, god pieces
glistening as they exit the thing they thought was them.
Posted 06/01/15
Published in Powder Keg Magazine, June 2015
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