Featured art by L.H. Grey
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Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross “On We March”
Pinch me
Am I real
Can you discern a pulse in my chest
Is it faint
Is its tempo quaint
Do you sense polite restraint
I feel
Faint
Weightless
Stateless
Wistful in my thinking
Blissful as I’m
Sinking
Eyes wide shut as I’m blinking
Neither here nor there
But everywhere
All at once
Pinch me
Am I real
Does my blood not congeal
Just how raw must I deal
Do these tears count for nothing
are my ducts simply bluffing
I’m open for discussion
a musky book bound in
Jagged Barb
Skim reading at best
Compulsive at worst
Why do my words blur
are they being deferred
Are my lines that absurd
Cannot just you concur
Am I seen if not heard
Pinch me
Am I real
Is this pain that I feel
How much blood should I spill
Will I heal
Are those clouds rolling in at my feet
Why else would the balance have shifted
Am I lifted
Is this elevation
or just one last indignation
Melancholic migration
I don’t even know which way I am facing
Then again
Pinch me
I’m real
I can breathe
I can feel
Blow a kiss
Form a scowl
I can roar
I can prowl
I can leap from the dark
I can weep from the bark
I can withstand the storm
I can rise from this Fall
I’m a crisp autumn breeze
I’m the ghost in the tree
Can you see me
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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