Not to be a drag but..

down in the world,

in cold caverns that used to breathe heat but now dispell it,

in eroded ridges that used to hold all things precious and tender,

but now simply cannot be trusted,

beside all old treasures crumpled up and collected, caught in the underneath parts,

a rock or gem the color of the devil’s flesh,

in a mire far beneath any recognizable surface,

where the sound of too many heartbeats march forward on and on that can barely be heard,

that are nothing but a murmured salute down there,

so unbelievably tangible yet too distant to grab hold of,

I make my home.

I always knew I belonged in the underground,

below the heavy earth where life has been

privately carrying on fiercely and unselfconsciously, writing untold histories

and shedding heartbreaks before an empty audience,

conquering new territory without the blood loss, without all the blood and loss,

enslaving nothing but a simmering quiet,

enslaved to nothing but the ebb and flow of matter

and the present threat of a God’s will,

perfectly nameless and perfectly alone-

indeed, this is where I belong.

Author: Brittney Bullock

Boston University graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy. Primary interests include politics, prose and poetry.

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