Calling All
when i arose
like a plot twist in prose
i found my head in a box
with jagged rocks and those
cuts ran as rivers.
yet i didnt care to find the key
i hadnt known if there was a key
to unlock the door at the end
of the hallway
and there was no way out.
hope,
like string, was neither thick
enough nor long enough
to decorate my neck
in the void of space.
eyes bled as i looked upon the
sun
who's face looked upon me,
i failed him, and he wasnt about
to bail me out again.
and again
i rest my case-head on the chopping block, the breath
i taste, is not my own but those
chopped before.
in a world where pennies are scraped from our fabricated pockets to bury the dead, and they are young.
poem by Malcolm McGill
Added by Poetry Lover
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