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Michelle Martin

Michelle Martin

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My Rotting Soul

By: Imrogue
Flickering lights
illuminated my way
through the tunnel of sorrow.
Coldness in the night


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Patience

A wind comes from the north
Blowing little flocks of birds
Like spray across the town,
And a train, roaring forth,
Rushes stampeding down


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Confession

Confession

waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed
I am so very sorry for


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Sexpot

Sexpot

“you know,” she said, “you were at
the bar so you didn’t see
but I danced with this guy.
we danced and we danced
close.


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