by c. a. williams   Jul 28, 2021

white sheets pick at her and
spill into her sagging flesh


save the contour
the over-washed linen has
given her, thumbed into the
folds of her skin

sculpted by the settling of
threadbare ruin, of opiates that swell
in her elbow
confusing her shape -

feeble efforts twist around her
(unyielding remnants
curled in upon themselves)

her breath,
refusing the insistent
unthinking provocation,
collapses imperceptibly at the threshold
of her lips and pours
through the fabric, seeping
onto the bedframe,
the misery of it all pooling
on the floor


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Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    It's great to see a new poem from you on here! You have such a refreshing, unique style and your language in this is harrowing, haunting. When I read this, I saw these abstract, distorted feelings taking shape, or rather, a lack of shape here. The discomfort of body and mind. Your word choice in this made the piece even darker, giving it a hopeless tint, like the body is becoming lifeless, everything inside spilling on the floor. I don't know how or why I can picture it so clearly, like the exhaustion of her body and living and struggling and every part of her giving up. This is such a profound image of grief too, of sinking, of not being in control of her movements, of not being able to feign interest and the everyday actions, every ounce of her, what remains, collecting on the floor.

    Hope to read more from you soon.

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