Summer is ending and it feels like:

an unraveling.

Swirls of silken rage scatter my floor,

shredded to bits by the last snippet

of compassion I carry.

I fear I may have ripped open my seams

and forgotten to stitch the trauma back in,

I cannot function without its constant leering.

 

 

Summer is ending and it feels like:

bloodshot nights,

reptilian eyes,

absorbing tears into plush.

I am wasting ammunition

on word equations and citations

instead of straight shooting

for my future.

 

 

Summer is ending and it feels like:

the loss of freedom.

And, maybe, 

a bit of my identity

swirled away in the soggy sorrow

of my September shower serenade.

 

By Katelynn Paluch

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

TOP

Opus Archive!

Check out the history of our pages here!