Roots (By Cat Matchuk)
In the middle of a headache
I imagine my nerves are the roots of a tree. Continue reading “Roots”
In the middle of a headache
I imagine my nerves are the roots of a tree. Continue reading “Roots”
A heavy weight against the heart
can only slow the beating.
It does not stop, merely pulsing.
Weak, but alive.
The tension pulled across the spine.
The pain
was unbearable and became a hand to hold.
To carry
through the years I didn’t wish to endure.
He sold
my soul, against my will in the black market.
Continue reading “The Cost of a Soul”