By: Sofia Chassomeris, Opinions Editor

this body aches for death, 
a cure? 
a resolution,
like it longs to rest in the muddy embrace of a grave
so that the earth may hold me as gently as my tender flesh allows.

she will unbind my muscles from the bone,
curl her fingers in my sinew
and draw me open,
feed me to her soil,
quench the thirst of her children with plasmas and cradle them in my ribs
in the dip of my pelvis
or at the joints of my limbs.

it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,
waiting for sun to pour in past her fingertips,
kiss my sternum,
and bury me,

but it will come
and so will rains,
just as they’ve come, always,
and though i dream in decay,
the seeds forged and sown in my grey matter i wish would grow
may finally,
finally,
be able to do so