Cicada 8:33


Yellow crashes against this

Window, shining light

On my sickly white walls.


The weighty anvil descends on me

And traps my fevered body as

Its iron cools and crushes my whimpering bones.


This is my afterlife, immortal but immobile.

I desire nothing more than a cracked rib

And snacks now and then.


But I wish the insects would leave me be.

They circle my bed like chanting savages,

Flashing their fangs and beating winged drums.


Their nauseous hum seeps inside my thoughts

As I shake my vomit filled head,

Desperate to escape.


Bleeding ears and burning body

Remind me of demons past,

Scraping their way up my throat.


I am but a humbly pure shell,

Nothing more, perhaps less,

Sentenced to sleep in an oven.


  • Heather T

    Ethan, my guess is that you are brilliant. You write beyond your years, and I would be excited to see where you are in a decade.

    • Ethan

      Wow thank you so much :O

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