by Josh Lechner

I had to break out of the cage

you always put me in at night.

Your hand, hanging off the bed,

reeked of the bottle you kept

in its sideways holder.

You looked like that bottle there.

Sideways, unmoving,

maroon spilling out of you.

My metal’s cold never left

your unforgiving fingers.

I licked them, like the few times

your claws clasped no lock.

I nipped at your hovering branch

glistening in afternoon sun;

your curtain was never closed

unless you had him do it.

Where was he?

Where was your world?

He wasn’t there when

you kneeled, begged him to keep you.

He wasn’t there when

you screamed ‘5 years of my life!’

‘Wasted!’

He wasn’t there when

your finale poured ceremoniously from your lips.

You made your world our religious end.

I was left to my body’s dirt for days.

Now I’m left to eat what I can.

 

 

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       Josh studies English with a concentration in creative writing at OSU. He writes poetry and nonfiction, but his main passion is in writing fiction that focuses on queer experiences and coming-of-age storylines. In his free time, Josh can be found listening to Taylor Swift, reading fantasy novels, or buying candles he doesn’t need. He lives in Oklahoma City with his fiancé and dog.