The Journal of Uncertainty (By Cat Matchuk)
Fill my lines so you appear busy.
Mundane tasks
They look important,
but they are
not. Continue reading “The Journal of Uncertainty”
Fill my lines so you appear busy.
Mundane tasks
They look important,
but they are
not. Continue reading “The Journal of Uncertainty”
It has been years since I knew who I was.
What I stood for,
and now I fall, I believe no longer.
I protect no one.
Recall every song,
recall every memory.
Whispers are frantic
your breath of hope could ache.
A gentle touch.
You traced the stars with my heart
and hold my soul
in the embrace of your galaxy.
Hands instantly reach up, cradling a broken nose. No matter how tight my hold is, the blood still seeps through my fingers. It drips down my arm and grows cold against the warm summer air.
And this is the way it has to be.
With a heavy sigh, my hands leave my face to push myself up from the ground. I begin walking down the dirt road. Trees are silhouetted against the setting sun, and really, it’s a gorgeous town.
Except the crops.
Push through this skin
and paint a picture.
Finger painting
with blood.
It was all a young girl knew.
It itches and burns
to crack open and smell the blood, wasn’t the intention.
Growing raw against silk sheets, I couldn’t fix it.