Page 58 of Undertow

“I’m not aprince,” I say once I can breathe again. “I’m a prisoner. I’m fuckingowned.”

Heavy breaths make their way back into my lungs. I feel her attention as I tug my shirt back on and rebutton it.

“I’m not allowed to want anything, tobeanything other than what theywant. So don’t sit there and act like this is anything other than what it is.”

I search her eyes, pleading with her to understand, even though I know she can’t. No one can. Most of the damage isn’t even from this nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I… didn’t know.”

“Yes, you did,” I reply in a harsh tone. Her gaze lifts to mine. “Yes, you did, Scarlett.”

I have quilted my body with the flesh of my idols

and replaced my eyes with seven years of bad luck

Concrete sheets cloak the vessel

sleeping on top soil dreams

opiate poetry hitting thresholds

a helping hand to mask the screams

Nothing lost in shooting shots

but shots and shooting mark the skin

filling veins with ink and blood in pens

to compliment the sins

Gouge out the shards from my eyes

draw permanence from my lips

there was a time when you were staring back from the chasm of this pit

Take every strand of hope you have and tie a knot above the wound

mistakes will fester, life will cease,

but none a greater threat than you

Time flies in reverie and the impressions wind up lost

or at least as soon as you are found

It all feels all for naught

-JD August 15

THEN: STONE COLD SOBER

“That’s her.”

“Who?” I squint at the pretty, if overly polished, young blonde woman Ben points out.

“McArthur’s daughter.”

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