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Gabriel Jul 2021
Almost like clockwork,
the bone breaks. This time,
an arm, a warning
against the things that hands
can do. Cut it off not at the disease,
but at the root.

We hope, this time,
that we were quick enough
in the amputation.
That the disease has spread
no further than the floor
upon which the phantom limb jerks.

Last time, it was slow,
an infestation below the muscle
until the patient was screaming
for morphine. We had to cut
the lower leg first, but the thigh
was already prisoner.

The neuroscience department
has been working overtime
on all the brains we lobotomised
before removal. We’re thinking
that’s where it ruminates,
dormant, like a volcano.

The infection manifests
differently in everyone.
In some, it cries for attention,
and we cut the throat.
In others, it’s violence,
and it ends up killing itself.

There’s not much we know
and even less we can name.
When they brought my body
in, they called it loneliness,
and cut out my heart.
The wolves ate well that night.
From a portfolio I wrote in third year of university, titled 'Infestation'.
Mark Wanless Jan 2021
the dog ate some flesh
off my arm then killed the bear
okay i agree
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
Him
I am small like a child,
wet face pressed
against a massive chest.

His arms crush me gently,
wrap me in a shroud
of sinew and bone

as the smell of bourbon
and musk fills my nostrils.
His breath feathers lightly

across the top of my head;
reassuring whispers
tickle my spine

and tell me
I am not wicked,
I am not a useless, hopeless thing.

I am perfect and flawed.
I am loved.
It is enough.
Nik Bland Jan 2021
In this lone
Construct of bone
Within the make of me
Hides things that I
Cannot deny
Where marrow used to be

Over this frame
Lies sheets of veins
Screaming a name ears can’t hear, that mouth won’t speak
That drives me
To insanity
As she’s just beyond my reach

And flaw’ed skin
That’s blanketed
These concrete truths to stop their bleeding
Bleeds nonetheless
In pained excess
Wanting to know what it’s needing

Callused hands
On a beaten man
With insides coming outside in truth
So much doubt
To filter out
In the finding of you
Shofi Ahmed Jan 2021
I sniffed a smell of your rose.
Oh, you know what?
It’s enough to thrill the bone.
Just leave a scent in the air
and pop in, take your turn
into a new buzzing centre!
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