Around me hung
on every hand
my organic threads thrive!
a richly green.
But a Huntsman’s chill lingers.
Nipping winds, like feral hounds
Crave! to strip me
from my
form.
My bones rattle with every howl.
Their breath bleaches my skin;
watch it crumble and crack!
My beauty
my pride
bares stains no rain could wash.
They shrivel and fall.
Peeling, flaking, tumbling to the ground;
The hounds howl again.
The sun has crossed to Elysium;
and the surrogate has seized the throne.
No,
Please!
Boreas, have mercy!
But it is too late.
I am naked
and I grow tired;
I grow weak.
About the Creator
Rae Janney
A Behavioral Neuroscience major with a passion for writing. My predominant writing style is surreal poetry, and most of my pieces touch upon mental health- TW included. My goal with my writing to end the stigma of mental illness.
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Cravena day ago in Fiction
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