Poetry by Annika Lee

Edited by Jeralynn Querubin

and i do not dream. which is to say 

there is a void in my ribcage yawning 

and stretching and waking up to eat the dreams

i planted years ago. 

it swallows down that bruised wanting 

smooth and easy as sticky blood, 

then pops the pomegranate seeds of my heart 

into its mouth for good measure.

when i close my eyes i swear i can feel 

the sweet-rot aftertaste of its meal on my tongue

but still the void stops me from sinking

my teeth into the meat of dreams and 

tearing chunks from the candyfloss of want.

i pray for salvation for the abyss has left me 

with water in my fists that drips the spun sugar 

into its mouth and i can no longer dream.