by Erin Cole
Her world splintered,
broken dreams, a love cut
from her arms.
Blood spilled,
ashes gust.
She stood, didn’t look
back, even as hope
hemorrhaged promises
and desertion seeped in,
viscous and hostile like
black tar.
Hungry mouths demanded
attention—lost hearts
needed guide. She keeps
in the moment, braving
a blinded future, rotted
by the cavities of
frailty, confronting real
fear with open eyes.
She makes it through the
dark, though by faking it is
only the rain on her face,
she makes it through the dark.
