Lit – MAGAZINE

the american shredder

“Guns don’t kill people”
What do you call the bullets
Shredding through fluid flesh…

I open my phone again And it glares back at me
“School Shooting, Six Dead” Three kids
Three teachers…

One day— one day perhaps,
You will read these thoughts
I’m pouring life into this ink…

My walls are stained with the skittish color of burgundy.
A shade that reminds me of my mother…

Recovery is a constant state of mind…

Sometimes life just simply feels perfect. Flawless and divine like fresh fruit or the beating of a bird’s wings…

I believe only truly sad people
understand the moon…

Even after traveling for days,
Meeting people with accents I have trouble understanding…

The world once tossed your native soul to valleys of love where all is born…