Exposure- Aurora Phoenix

there is a burn

and I turn my head

scouring for the source

of the scourge.

there is a worm

in the sand of my soul

buried but squirming still

my feet are fleet

yet beat

many a mean dark street.

there hides a smoldering blaze

behind that lowered gaze

flames will not be doused

\stone sober or slightly soused\

though I pour forth milk

of kindness

froth overflowing

the scorch extinguishes

not

 

I run for waters cool

submerge my charr-ed soles

whisper to the ill-used worm

revert, don’t turn

return

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Aurora Phoenix

I write as Aurora Phoenix. Nine months ago my world shattered. Unexpectedly and dramatically arrested, I have been incarcerated ever since, as I await the unbearably slow machinations of the system. Devoid of verbal communication that is unmonitored, pen and paper have served as my truest outlet for grief, fear and angst. Armed with toilet paper for intermittently copious tears, my motions experience and reflections are PaperMate poured. In this chapter of my life, I write.

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