Clap on, or: Clap off

Blank verse in iambic pentameter My sky is dark with black stars; together, congealing into thick syrup, even as I spread my arms; distributed as sick party favors, mementos of... need; perhaps, perhaps, preferable to my own; their deafening silence clotting my ears, coursing through twisted creases, pooling in my eyes, heavy, streaming down my… Continue reading Clap on, or: Clap off