By David Marsh
Her body, a symphony of bats,
And they showed it over and over and over,
as the audience bellowed and cackled from the gods.
We used to joke around about the man that fell,
suspended like a stage actor over the rats that dignified themselves as customers,
with little bits and pieces chiseled out of his visage by the end of the evening.
It was bad comedy, some crazy idea of a dream
and some kind of terror
I never repented of.
Metal rods would fill the mind,
Slabs of flesh torn in two,
Little crevices frayed and grisled by those rouge and rusted entities.
It was a bad partitioning of space they’d said once,
But here I was, a dead man floating above his body in a distant lake of radio noise,
And they’d act it again, time in and time out as the audiences siphoned our veins
of whatever could be left.
She had black marks plastered to her arms,
and I lesions and boils from the dirt that caked those petty marks,
and ‘they are dead’,
and we have killed them,
and everyone shall weep at the same moment in time.
It made a good story in the paper.
By Elias Huffine
By Whit Halvorson
Seperate little motions
in seperate little towns
Try to drain your notions
and hope that you don't drown
Lick, with salty tongue
the wounds that you regifted
Inflict new pain, dead young,
and see that you are lifted
Follow all your paths
and recognize, full well,
that any of your wrath
will wind you up in hell
Practice, be self jaded,
and don't look in the mirror
See that you are faded
but don't see any clearer
The choirmaster’s coming
buzzard wings and all
so listen to his numbing
By Liam Palumbo
By Sydney Downs
The morning light bounced off her
Her hair and eyes and lips
We sat in that house made of bright red painted bricks
While waiting and waiting and waiting
All the time hating
What was to come
For the clock to chime nine
And hear the siren
The sound bouncing off that glass door
We joined hands waiting and hoping for more
More time to wait and reflect and ponder whats true
Were we really about to do what they said we would do?
We do what we need too
If that's what it takes to survive till the next chime of nine
Ding, ding, ding
That went on for what felt like forever
We walked out of that glass door
And we were better together on that fatal day
Because we knew,
Hell was about to be raised
By Lauren Tyler
Every day I wake to rain
But I never built an ark to brave these waves
So I drown in a sea of misery and pain
And my cup overflows
I cry out like Esau
And beg for a single blessing
I pray like Cain
And say it is too much to bear
Yet as I stretch my hands to heaven
I hear my voice screaming out to Him
And the good book says,
“The good Lord giveth, and He taketh away.”
By Ella Green
Help me to trust You
And make the fog of worry clear
Help me to be still and know You are near
Help me feel peace when I am without it
Guide me on my journey bit by bit
Help me to know You’re there when I feel alone
So that Your Love and Light would be through me shone
Renew my strength when I am weak
So I may reach the glorious peak
Where Heaven will shine
And there will be joy divine
And worry no more
When I reach the wonderful shore
There with You, I will remain
Forever with You Jesus, no more pain
Your mercies never cease
You are my Peace
By Emma Miller
It feels harder to breathe
It feels my lungs have been coated in goo
As if my lungs can't fully expands
As if my ribs poke into my sides when I try to inhale
It feels harder to swallow
It feels harder to speak
As if my throat as shrunk 3 sizes
It feels harder to remember
It feels harder to think
As if all my memories are just a dream
Maybe it was always a dream
Maybe I’m only just now feeling what it is to be human
Maybe it’s always been hard to breathe
Maybe my ribs have always felt like spears in my side
Maybe my throat has always been at its normal state
Maybe none of it was a dream
Maybe I’ve just lost something
By Talitha Lubben
I remember the night I met you,
Or perhaps only saw,
For I did not speak a word to you,
No, we didn't speak at all.
And upon seeing you,
If it’s possible to fall in love with you.
You’re nothing but a stranger,
But as I walk by with my umbrella,
And as you sit there,
Smiling at the rain,
I can’t help but wonder.
Wonder what it would be like to wake up next to you,
Kiss your cheeks,
Hold your hand,
Call you mine.
But that won’t happen,
Because I don’t know you,
Will never know you,
For you will be gone once I turn the corner.
Do you know how you enchant me?
With your sunhat and forest green dress,
With the way you smile at the rain,
And carefully reach out your hand to catch the drops?
I love you,
But falling out of love is just as easy as falling in,
Because I never knew you,
Will never know you,
Only the way I dreamed of you.
Of when— if, you were mine.
By Sophia Taylor
She wakes each morning with tears in the corner
Of her cold, dark coffin.
Each morning it swells like the Nile.
It wreaks of mold and often,
She returns back to the sheets of shroud,
Eyes unfixed like a moving cloud,
The dust beneath her softens.
She does not know that she’s boxed in-
To a hole, unknown, unwanted.
She pushes up, against the sky
The ashy, rooted, muddy sky
To reach her final Eden.
Alas her efforts are in vain,
Yet they’re efforts all the same.
And while she takes her final breath,
Her meaning, purpose, lay to rest.
And those who know her— dozen–
Forget her name and summon.
She turns around herself,
Looking at her living hell,
And cries for there are no skies.
The endless, waking, consuming, lies
Of hope, of joy
Which always die.
Under the ground, amongst the bones,
Lying beneath all of the stones
A song of weeping far less known.
By Isabel Mullins
The rag doll with stringy red hair sat in her liver-spotted hand. It was hers, she told me, when she was my age. Special, that’s what the doll was. Special because family gave it to her, the same kind of special the time I spent with her was. She was proud, that’s what she told me when I showed her my embroidery, a poor shadow of her skillful art. Whoever would’ve thought that this time, she wouldn’t survive. Now it’s all that’s left of her, her beautiful tapestries of love, the little butterflies of string that fly across my pillowcase.
By Daniel Garner
I stepped onto the board. Wind hugged my body. I lifted my hands to the sky, my head followed them. They connected as I remembered how hard I practiced for this, and now was the time I leaned back, my knees bent. I soared up and I saw the board again. My body pierced the pool. The water turned red, I felt my shoulder blades burning. I escaped the water. My head was foggy, but I wanted to know what happened. “Mom? Can you tell me what it is?” I said wearily. I was told it looked like angel wings.
By Sophia Dowling