poetry

Itchy Sweater

By Amy Thomson

Rub,

scratch.

Poor material:

chemical,

arterial.

Take it off,

this itchy sweater.

Trend setter.

Out of my skin,

onto the floor,

rotten core

exposed.

Suppose,

I buy a net set of skin,

one akin

to models

and stars?

Behind bars,

one’s self,

one’s shield,

peeled,

revealed:

Amy.

 

Advertisements
poetry

“Molly, you bitch.”

By Amy Thomson

One hit,

drip drip.

Up nose,

down throat,

Burn.

Yearn.

Safety,

hasty.

Too fast,

outcast,

Too much,

my crutch:

Anna Marie,

I look to thee.

Stay with me.

Hear my plea.

“I’ll use my student ID.”

Glow sticks,

shitting bricks.

Fucking shit,

losing it.

Call Max,

attacks:

Panic,

manic.

Implode,

unfold.

Vertigo,

we couldn’t know.

Just breathe.

Adderall?

Trip, then fall.

Molly, you bitch.

Nerve glitch.

Which witch

would pitch

fucking with you

after going through

your wrath,

aftermath.

Mushroom cloud

enshroud.

Lesson learned,

This bridge has burned.

 

poetry

Off-Balance Balance

By Amy Thomson

Store-bought transmitters
steadfast
strong.
Dulled jitters
heart flitters
taste of bittersweet
saccharine.
Head heavy
pulled down
in submarine
sertraline.
Can’t cum,
heart’s numb
under Complacency’s
adequate thumb.
Quit school,
too cool
too okay
to stay
here,
not out of fear,
but why steer
when I can float?
A balanced ghost
of Amy Christine,
learned to coast,
prescription post.
Not survived,
kept alive.
Inertia derived,
destruction contrived.
Off-balance balance
replaced by tranquil skies
by placid lies.
Feet up,
laid back,
frets lack,
new knack:
No care,
cool stare,
going nowhere.
Life’s infinite treadmill
powered by last bursts
of light
a sight,
burning stardust,
ember distrust,
gasoline lust,
into Earth’s crust.

poetry

Look At The Sky!

By Amy Thomson

Cumulus pillows

accumulate blue.

Form elephants and

ships and an escape

from the skyscrapers.

 

Cirrus feathers dust

the salmon ceiling,

glowing gold as they

sing goodnight to Sun

and welcome Miss Moon.

 

Actinoform bursts

of bright fireworks

form celebrations

for our green Mother,

and spill their smiles.

 

Nimbostratus eyes

cry tears that fill seas,

groaning and roaring

and begging and—Oh

please return to me!

 

Condensed sisters fight

and love and wander—

all oblivious

to the gaze of the

stardust specks below.