Sleep

Written by Chelsea Marie Hicks

Sometimes I dream of burning metal,
an aneurism smelling stains, staining smells into the nostrils of my nightmares,
places daydreams go to visit, rare to return.
This is a place speckled blue and bright,
dark matter, rays of fire, swirling in a phosphorescent haze.
Our mind’s made up of galaxies, battling and bending,
breaking when we fall out of

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Tightrope Walking Along Ventricle Strings

Written by Chelsea Marie Hicks

My functioning organ, a hot gallery
of chaotic rope lines crisscrossing, ever tense in their taut,
there I feel the lead to you tug
and despite my faulty resistance,
I catch myself t i p t o e i n g,
crashing,

f
a
l
l
i
n
g

to echoes of your vocal reverberations,
sifting through my imagination, controlling circadian tides.