By Nora Glass
Tangling sweet girls upon cold wooden floors
All tossed together and covered like hair
Purple like bruises, that blanket of yours.
Early delirium into bold roars
Lions soon yawned and retired to their lair
Tangling sweet girls upon cold wooden floors.
Standing above, putting weight on my sores
Feet are stone cold and I sweat, I must stare
Purple like bruises, that blanket of yours.
Frozen strawberries we ate on the shore
Iced into giggles and coughing up hair
Tangling sweet girls upon cold wooden floors.
Girls are strew out like the guts from a gore
Pulled like intestines, pale, band-aided, bare
Purple like bruises, that blanket of yours.
Gnawing and tired from beautiful wars
Sleeping together and caught in a snare
Tangling sweet girls upon cold wooden floors
Purple like bruises, that blanket of yours.
About the author: Nora Glass is a high-strung 17-year-old from Atlanta, Georgia. Passionate about the theatrical, poetic, and linguistic, she can be found reading, writing, and making unnecessarily complicated spreadsheets. Her poetry has appeared and will appear in the Weight Journal, Eunoia Review, Moonflake Press. More details about the poet can be found here:
Incredible talent especially for such a young poet.
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