‘Not Quite Dead’, by Angelina Bong
I woke up a wilted roseMy petals were crusheda thousand tempestsMy thorns turned inwards striking my stemWorms crawled all over meYet my roots were intact – by Angelina Bong More works Malaysia
'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!
I woke up a wilted roseMy petals were crusheda thousand tempestsMy thorns turned inwards striking my stemWorms crawled all over meYet my roots were intact – by Angelina Bong More works Malaysia
There is a snuffing out when the synapses stop firing. The ex-wives fade to black. His hawks blink. Extinguished. The Co-op, Jesus, trains and snow glimmer. Cut. Planets spin off the axons. Our kisses are ashes blown to the wind. He lies alone, like a great house with all it’s furniture moved out; windows smeared […]
Too young to understand, Too scared to stay by RachDoesDesign Wales [The image features a form with chaotic hair spanning the entirety of the piece, lines and dots show the chaos of the mind]
The skin I wear The skin I wear is a covering for my bones and flesh and I’m glad it holds it in but wonder sometimes why and sigh about the pain I’m in. It’s not as if I’ve fallen or didn’t watch where I was going, I was plodding on quite well I thought […]
I feel the music This orchestra of mine I jest your intimacy Embracing every shard With love and warmth But should you say goodbye And leave me before I die I shall stand and run and dance To an air of triumph! But should you chance to be With me ‘til the end No matter […]
This is shocking. I am not an object and I am not broken but the pain tells me differently. This is chronic. Why am I not adjusted yet? It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness or all I want is to lie down. And when […]
hospital gown a flap in the back lights flickering tra la la obsessive screaming sounds of machines dissolving matter situated between two beds rupture of bodies declared missing delivered in close up by Jane Joritz-Nakagawa Japan Jane Joritz-Nakagawa’s most recent book is Poems: New and Selected (Isobar, 2018) on sale at Amazon
There is no God. I know it. I feel it in this agony. This violence. As my brain tricks my body into ripping itself apart. There isn’t. There can’t be. Please God. There can’t be. by Holly Hirst Twitter @RomGothHolly
I’ve slept through Christmas. I shiver and pull the covers over me; sweat, and throw the covers off. My head bobs with nausea as I hobble to the bathroom to pee. The cats stay away, though at some point I hear them sliding across the living room floor, chasing that knitted ball with the bell. They […]
Like a tennis ace, all Crisp white shorts, and shirts Fresh every day, He sits over the breakfast Table, too big For any chair, an elbow Planted, a one-hand scoop Of eggs and bacon, Solid muscle in the arm And thigh, his neck A bronze pillar Of glowing flesh. And then you see Slight tremor, […]