Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JGuberman Aug 2016
The soil covers your bare feet in a powdery gray dust
like you've walked through an old fireplace that hasn't been cleaned
in the days since the last sacrifice.

There's enough wood to keep us warm through the coldest winter
or burn heretics to any cold heart's content.
This land is full of burnt offerings
and lucky rams
where it doesn't even take the word of god to sacrifice your child
just the word of man,
imperfect as the path you walk back from alone.
Av-Rahim is a conflation of the Hebrew beginning of the name of Abraham and the Arabic ending of the same name.
Even your hottest hell, won't burn
I won't be fooled by
your burnt sympathy
I won't be fooled by
your rotten love

-Kaya
Kim Rojas Jul 2016
Why'd the folks burnt the bridge,
When 'coz of it two cities astringe?

"We don't want it
'Coz peace won't make out of it,"
The cold city said,
Only having thoughts of dread.

The warm city professed
That they could care but less -
Having thoughts of indifference
But somewhat distressed.

Both cities faced all storms alone.
Waited 'til the sun shone.
Yet not a ray has shown.
"For what fault do we atone?"

Unknown cause made warm city shiver.
"Does the sin we don't know of can make us suffer?"
The least that they can afford
Is to catch the cold.

Albeit, they already did,
And cold city keeps the cure they need.

The warm city weeped.
"Do we die 'coz of a sin we didn't make?"
They perished within a week,
And for what sake?

The other city didn't get ahold
Of the cold but were still cold.
Surely, they won't ever know
If what the bridge is for.
The Flipped Word Mar 2016
My edges got singed
Like the crisp paper charred
That sizzling noise
Sounded oddly like your voice
And the blackening is spreading
Like a slow poison
Ugly red blue flames licking at my skin;
The skin that used to sing at your touch
Or like a snake's parted tongue
Darting in and out, in and out
Slowly over my wounds
Lovingly licking venom over
The pained oozing blood

*I am singed
You set me on fire
And honey, it's not even the good kind
My body is Detroit. Spray paint in the form of a Kaleidoscopic, mountainous macabre- knuckle
avalanche going down the 90 degree angle that just isn't right but I can't call it obtuse.
I have gang signs littered across the human vessel, spotty and an embarrassed brown covered by a collar, and green, yellow and maroon covered by sunglasses.
Love is not possession in the way abuse is not love.
Both own you. Sailing, he's steering. my cruise is on the Slave Trade Triangle route.
You never asked me to get your name tattooed on the past 18 years of dermis cut, shaved, kissed, caressed, burnt and brown.
Next page