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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() Scarab beetles dig into its skin Crawling in beneath the eyes Metallic whispers behind the curtains Drawn over the last dredges of its ailing mind Cry of battlefields in the shadowed world Hidden beneath an unsteady painting (It stands before a cracked glass mirror Painting smiles on the face with the shards) Searching for sweetened air, head thrown back, the waters crash into it It drowns in mounds of dying fireflies The sun never seemed so far away as it does this day
Pinpricks of rose blood well on its hands Stinging blisters of thorns growing From the vestiges of life left inside it It sails an ocean, a storm, a world of crooked frames hanging on the walls (Rummage in the broken cupboard Wrapping bandages around its melting skin) Blood and bones, broken smiles Ravens scavenge its wilting thoughts Picking threads out of the head Thrumming songs sung by the wolves Howling between the ears and the world Ivy crawling up the walls, blocking the light, barricading it From the gentle peace. (It hunches over the porcelain sink Battling for silence inside the room occupied only by it and it and it - only me.) Comments are closed.
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* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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