queer poetry – A Trial of Survival

Fiction

I wonder,
if the way we
we
av
e
our stories
leaves any room for
truth.

if you wake up really early,
the city is almost pretty.
with sleep-filled eyes and
cotton candy skies,

Craving the light brush
of fingertips;
I dream of hands upon
(a mostly-numb) chest.
A soothing gesture,
I can barely feel.

Regeneration of flesh
and nerves,
healing takes years.

Fatigue
will always seep
into the bones of the
battle ready,
until we are dripping
with embitter acceptance.

Scattered bodies;
lay against grates,
and the alleys of a
freezing city.

A child,
worn down and desperate,
takes any risk
to feel the warmth.

A loneliness, I cannot unravel.

Careless in my youth,
I stumbled into love.
No internal sense, of
self-preservation,
I thrilled at her macabre.

I dream of wilderness
and warmth,
the kindness you have always denied me.

I’ll find love amongst the trees.

I despise the way
you permeated my brain.
The way, the smell of your perfume raises
hairs upon my neck,
and burns low within
my belly.