i hold my pen like a molten iron
searing burning
heat kinda like a voice buried too long
it bleeds in fire and ink
lines crack through the bed of a once-living thing

the river has run dry
kinda like soft sighs over stones
a ribbon of silvered dead dreams
now it’s a mouth gaping and thirsty
craving the taste of anything but dirt

the trees lean in rusted branches
roots reaching for raindrops in dust
the fish are gone
their ghosts swim there now
ugly beasts swimming in my brain now

i write more so not to remember but to file a grievance
the pen brands truths into the paper’s flesh
dry cracked parchment i dare to call river
each word my funeral
each pause my drought
but i can’t get the heat to lift so i write


💭