Borne of the Winter
and what a time
to be wrought
from bleak skies, from
forlorn magpies.
Scratching - the Scar Skin
You work the day shift. You work the night shift. You don’t sleep. You sleep too much. You eat. You don’t. It doesn’t matter. You keep scratching for life, hoping like hell the light returns.
I said I am not your flower
A defiant bloom from the cracks—this one’s for the wild things that won’t stay buried.
