By Hannah Fisher
Hollow cheeks and cold lips.
Blurred vision and slender hips.
You've been sitting there for ages, never looking at the faces of the people that pass by.
Everyone knows what you're doing, there's no need to lie.
The cold wind has numbed your body.
It's too late to say you're sorry.
They've got you, child.
You're going to be here a while.
You feel the need to race to the bottom of every single bottle in hopes that you can find what you once had.
The poison runs through your veins, making you not feel as bad.
Numbing the pain inside your head.
Are you alive, or are you dead.
The spark of the lighter is the only thing you see.
With the taste of death upon your lips, the soul bleeds.
Slowly you lose your senses, one by one.
You pray, "Lord, forgive me for the things I've done."
You feel the chemicals burning your bloodstream.
Your eyes glaze over, your thoughts a mess.
This is how it ends.
I'll tell you when it kicks in.
“While writing this I envisioned a young adult on the streets of a large city fighting an addiction they cannot overcome, be it alcohol or drugs, and the struggle they start to have with themselves. Addiction isn't always easy to get over. I think some people need to realize this.”
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"A Wisconsin Family Visits California for Spring Break"
By Shane Teter
The mockingbird calls us awake --
In the gloaming, the morning light rises.
Floral-scented air with citrus and saltwater
Occupies our room. It's a California A.M.
We are in the land of endless summer
To welcome the first day of spring.
The mockingbird reminds me of the east,
When Karen and I began our lives together.
Then we woke to a similar air and a similar sound.
We would quickly put on our work costumes
And pretend to be adults who have morning coffee.
It was 6:00 in the morning, then.
And now in this western edge of winter,
As we begin our middle life,
I remember where we've been
Because of where we are.
“I used to write poems to vent teen angst. Then I wrote poems to copy Robert Frost, John Keats, and Emily Dickinson because they said things that I felt but didn't have the words for. Now I write poems to capture small thoughts and to put those small thoughts under the lens of a reflective moment. And then, hopefully, give those small thoughts a lasting memory.”
