Trainspotting (Day Twenty-Nine and Final: Railroad Tracks)

I lay me down to sleep on the trackswith my last rites already readto watch the light at the end of the tunnelcome closer with a deafening screechand feel the vibrations like a lullabywith the scraping of metal on metal as the soundtrackto the last dream I'll ever havenow you will never get to hear …

The Beaten Path (Day Twenty-Eight: Choices)

She was found off the beaten pathfeatured in the scenic routeher body bent like a swastikaan obscene twist in a picturesque sceneshe only had the clothes on her backand the syringe plunged into her armand a note in her pocket to explain nothingall that she wrote:"no comment" Prompt: Choices Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, …

Salem (Day Twenty-Seven: Magic)

Your knuckles turn white as ghosts as your fingers contract like spider's legs curled around the prey of bed sheets and vicious truthsit's a witching hour ritual with offerings and anointed box cuttersand you'd sacrifice every lamb just to get some fucking sleepbut when you lie down it's not a bed or an altarbut just …

The Asphyxiant (Day Twenty-Six: What Makes You Different)

I'm captivated endlessly by crippled mindsdreams of drinking antiseptic like cheap wine in a decrepit homelowlife lullabies sung only by insomniacsthe sound a crushed windpipe makes as it strains to draw air Prompt: What Makes You Different Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. Well, okay so it doesn't exactly make me different, but …

Internal Troops (Day Twenty-Five: Breaking the Rules)

You play hopscotch in a minefield disguised as a quiet streetunder surveillance from gas mask faces with crosshair eyesthey're wearing batons like stilts to look like giantsone false attribute will get you killed'cause it's their worldyou just die in it Prompt: Breaking the rules Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. I do have …

Snuff Documentary (Day Twenty-Four: Something New)

Sometimes I imagine your body rupturing all overyour fractured skeleton jutting out of the tearsyour shell would hang in tatters like a designer dressframed in flattering, canted anglesand then you'd be the astoundingthat you always wanted to be Prompt: Something New Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. Something old, something borrowed, something blue... …

Chalk Contours (Day Twenty-Three: Gratitude)

The empty space spins like a drill tip aiming for my skullprovidence lost in a free-falla doom spiral unravelingwith a pit of vipers like a halo around my headI'm stuck drawing self-portraits in chalktrying to decide which outline looks better on the bathroom floor Prompt: Gratitude Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. Well, …

Unspeakable (Day Twenty-Two: Intuitive Stir)

Hungry jackals gnawon her last gaspbarbed fangs punching holesinto her bloated lungsher children are crucified on wire hanger crossesmob justice as a serenadeode to a beloved junkie whore Prompt: Intuitive Stir (interpreted.) Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. The prompt involved was to pick the first word from a nearby source, and I …

Viperine Caress (Day Twenty-One: Taste)

I taste of taste champagne, sweat and bone dustas I trace the faded cigarette burns slithering up her legslike sickly serpents desperate to intertwinethat step by step lead me to the hellwaiting between her thighs Prompt: Taste. As an extension. Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days. Since the prompt was an extension of …

Meatpacking District (Day Twenty: Touch)

The way she picks at the scabs with fingernails like arrowheadsreminds me of the first time she ever held me closewe were laughing like hyenas upon a sad roadkillenveloped in the scent of putrid affinitylike sex and decay and things dying in the womb Prompt: Touch. Sort of. I know, this year I've been a …