Cut, Burn, Bury (By Cat Matchuk)
Cut, cut, cut
the young girl’s hair falls to the floor.
You ask yourself, who will I be now?
I want to drink whiskey straight from the bottle
and wear leather
Continue reading “Cut, Burn, Bury”
Cut, cut, cut
the young girl’s hair falls to the floor.
You ask yourself, who will I be now?
I want to drink whiskey straight from the bottle
and wear leather
Continue reading “Cut, Burn, Bury”
Seeing is believing.
A sea of red in a crowd of voices,
people who were once separated.
She speaks and swallows back the words
as soon as they leave her tongue,
a delayed censoring. Continue reading “Threaded Lips”
Although I haven’t climbed these stairs in years
they always sound the same
under my feet.
Creak and splinter
in the same spots. Continue reading “Runaway Swan Song”
It finally happened; the girl’s gone mad.
It took one moment, took all that she had,
and amid the sunken stars that fell from the sky,
you can sift through them, find reasons to cry.
She was meant to bloom,
to plant her feet in the dirt and grow.
She can’t get comfortable,
but wants to throw out
a sober retelling of emotions.
Fill my lines so you appear busy.
Mundane tasks
They look important,
but they are
not. Continue reading “The Journal of Uncertainty”