MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Alive

Angela Penticuff

Climb inside this box of pain with me
lean into it like wind
holding you up with invisible hands
wrapping around your legs and arms
wiggling its way through your heart.
insular perfection, black
serpentine panic, a stabbing comfort, mother familiar.
letís not leave.
letís hide, wallowing up to our chins
safe from the More the world is dishing.