Mark Jennings
Glow
Death becomes me
on its irregular round
the scars that won't heal
glow in the dark
the golden rain doesn't patter
on this arid heart
repetition of dark memory
spark plugs my brain
toward tunnels burrowed through the wasteland
this body is numb
from ice cold trembling
that hasn't forsaken me
but which lays buried
in this parched tomb
that I call a life
Page(s) 20
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