Cursed Be Thy Name
The pen is always heavy,
when it’s months since you lifted it.
The weight of the space left behind
undressed, unaddressed.
Time without colour,
days without commas,
seconds stripped asunder,
drunk on the spirit of everlasting
full stops.
———
This pen has a cough,
the sign of an infected life
lived as if there was no editor
round the corner
waiting.
No publisher
cracking teeth,
...
5m
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May 01, 2024