A poem by Susan Richardson
I sit slumped at a table weeping,
peeling the skin from my hands
onto a rickety landscape of linoleum.
My tissue holds the scars of depravity,
a tangle of frenzy that sets itself on fire.
My blood is frozen in tendrils of ice
that encase the echoes of ecstasy.
My bones are made of wax, fractured
and cracking into fissures peppered
like land mines across my knuckles.
I wake up alone in a gale of laughter,
sitting naked on the edge of the bath.
Susan Richardson lives and writes in Los Angeles. In addition to poetry, she writes a blog called, Stories from the Edge of Blindness. Her work has been published in Rust + Moth, Amaryllis, Barren Magazine, The Writing Disorder, Dodging the Rain, and Toasted Cheese, among others. She was awarded the Sheila – Na – Gig 2017 Winter Poetry Prize, featured in the Literary Juice Q&A Series, and chosen as the Ink Sweat & Tears March 2018 Poet of the Month. Her poetry has also been nominated for Best of the Net. You can read more of her work on her website.