By M. Cynthia Cheung
If you had come
to fruition
you’d be a tangled mess,
limbs, organs, eyes,
a thing not quite
able to live.
As it was,
you didn’t.
That tubular heart
never beat.
Now I am
blank, scraped
bare.
Every month when I bleed
the pain of you returns.
M. Cynthia Cheung is a practicing physician in the United States who also writes poetry.
By Thomas Taragni God is dead and the world became adult. The bells played the requiem and a liar is the […]
By Christina Wilkins There is only so much reading you can do before the words squirm away from you and hide […]
By Natasha Devalia Bat It used to be numbinside meuntil It ripped free, the bat imprisonedwithin me leathery skin split ribstear free wings flapnight treenew moonover sea […]
By Thomas Hannah The beds will be ready in 5 minutes The sharpened voice bleated The beds will be ready in […]
