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By: Charles Aldux
God damned these accursed hands,
I’m stuck in the river.
When I’m supposed to be in the promised land.
Every day is cold.
So, my arms and legs shiver.
All around me is shaded timber.
My body does quiver.
I try to be optimistic.
But my situation keeps getting grimmer.
Damn that accursed breeze.
Water’s getting colder,
As there is never heat.
I’d beg for a change.
But it won’t stop its seize.
It crawls up my legs and through my sleeve.
I’m stuck here.
Of course, I do grieve.
My legs cannot move.
Or else I’d leave.
The skin of mine.
That still does shine.
Leaves me graven.
As I’m still stuck in grime.
Why must I be here?
Stuck in the abyssal waters,
In the sands of time.
I’m a stiff board.
In these waters.
I try to keep myself from becoming bored.
My wings are clipped.
So, I can never soar.
Believe me, I don’t want to be a grump.
But the sharp metals in the water.
They won’t cease to cut my legs.
And the warm blood trickles.
And no matter if the sun gets hotter.
It won’t differ how much I beg.
The freezing temps slam against my chest.
All things have bested me.
I’m stuck writing in a diary.
I am freezing,
Yet burning ever so fiery.
The blades in the water that bump.
Make me feel like a solitary tree.
That all is left is a stump.
It is all futile.
And has lasted for well more than a long while.
Yet you dare ask why I don’t smile.
I am covered in rot and mold.
While I continue to do what I’m told.
With blood clots and boils that clump.
Dripping blood into puddles so dark,
That you’d swear it was mud.
Louder and louder my heartbeat thumps.
As I am filled head to toe with eternal goosebumps.