Poem by Doniell Cushman
Things that I was afraid to
tell you made me yearn for a closeted space where with eyes, so haunted, I could stream out rivulets from long-clogged ducts. I could close my mind there and never hear your change in heartbeat, or see the sheet white across your ruddy skin; rather I could shut it out, scream out loud, or crawl into fetal position so I could die I've kept these secreted past doings so long that I have conveniently lost touch with them as if they never existed. © Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. All rights reserved by Doniell Cushman.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorDoniell Cushman, B.A. cum laude Archives
June 2022
Categories |