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Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash
The gaps we left
to let light in
let smoke through
and blacked out the room.
-
My cracking lips
made way for blood
rather than words
screaming for help
-
and all of that progress,
all of that work,
only spun the web
that traps our bodies now.
-
The windows wouldn’t open
our bodies would ache
so we drowned in the brine
that we let our problems create.
-
The car’s engine faltered,
the tightrope frayed and snapped,
all that remains is
our loss, and some cracks.
About the Creator
Reece Beckett
Poetry and cultural discussion (primarily regarding film!).
Author of Portrait of a City on Fire (2020, Impspired Press). Also on Medium and Substack, with writing featured… around…
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