drowning – MAGAZINE

Drowning by Cathrine Nevelius

Posted on May 25, 2017Jun 20, 2017 by Germ Magazine guest author

I can’t swim I’m drowning The sun shines Through the water Hitting my skin But I don’t feel warm I can’t breathe I’m immobile The water is clear I can see your face Smiling Such a contrast To my tear faced one The water pulls me To the shore Away from the shore I’m drowning […]

Over and Over Again by Addy Strickland

Posted on Feb 7, 2017Feb 11, 2019 by Addy Strickland

There is a difference between people who swim with sharks and people who get thrown overboard because choosing to take risks isn’t the same as being forced to. No one chooses to drown unless they’ve been given a reason, and this world, well, it’s one to reason with. Don’t get me wrong, I love the […]

She’s Hurricanes by Marisa Yow

Posted on Nov 23, 2016Dec 5, 2016 by Germ Magazine guest author

There are some days That I just can’t seem to get myself out of bed That my heart feels so heavy it makes my head feel light That I just don’t want to wake up I cower under the safety of my blanket But it feels like a shroud for the ghost Of the little […]

On Becoming by Carol Brown

Posted on Mar 19, 2016Apr 11, 2016 by Germ Magazine guest author

Let me tell you a story about birth: A girl came home one day after school and the walls bent around her, wrapped her all up absorbed her back into the womb. That was how it happened. Except, the floor was covered in broken glass and she touched it and got her fingers all cut […]

Drowning by Harnidh Kaur

Posted on Feb 23, 2016Feb 13, 2019 by Harnidh Kaur

Hold me down in water, just six inches is enough to drag me away, and two feet would wash away my car, but you knew that since the moment you pressed your palm against the curve of my neck and pushed down, carefully, with deliberation, and held me with your fingertips, just so afraid of […]

Water Is Weight by Chance Walsh

Posted on Apr 7, 2015Feb 12, 2019 by Chance Walsh

The guilt is on the rocks, I’m washing up to shore, so sure the impact will crush my bones and I’ll be asleep once more. But I’m struggling, I’m paddling, pushing past some anger, as my frail legs kick indignantly at the waiting water. My soul is screeching soundlessly that everything is make believe, and […]

Anchor by Lori Werner

Posted on Nov 5, 2014Feb 27, 2019 by Lori Werner

The first time I found him I was sixteen. He was crumpled under his bike like an unpaid bar tab. He smelled like cigarettes and something lonely. The second time I found him I was nineteen. He was half-hanging out of the truck door, talking to himself, barefoot and shirtless, a lost child. Where I […]