dirge

Mournful, sorrowful lament upon battlefield bleeding. The cry of a Phoenix in a hallucinogenic daydream. Bagpipes play on under fading bugle. War minefield ampersand Christmas. Throwing my body across my comrade, sinking feeling settles in, but not soon after it buoys back up. That’s the adrenaline kicking it and making itself known to me. Sarsaparillas under and unknown tree branch. Redwood forest can’t grow any faster than it already is. Same syllables jutting out speaking. Watching the files, watching the lips move but my brain’s turned off so I can’t make sense of the sounds. Shell-shocked Wonder Bread. Dotted line that I signed during a new moon, contractually binding palimpsest. Can’t wonder why anymore. Dirge sung out on the blood-stained grass, and in my own head; I am moving to a rhythm that only I can hear. It’s supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be painful. Yesterday’s crimson, dirt road is today’s city. Moving forward, moving on. Holding the locket close to my throat, golden stables where my horse now must be. Singing out underwater, screaming out. Sunken boat.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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