I think in swollen metaphors,
I am not drowning, I am eaten
So I hold my thumb on the pulse of the universe
and it is dead;
I spin my mind like fingers for fun,
And dream my veins soiled in chocolate cake
So I taste the sweetened marrow
and my teeth mold in cheap rum
My throat wilts and dries,
I am not a flower in winter, I am a weed in a housefire
So I kiss the arson on the mouth
and it tastes like warmth
I intellectualize my weakness
And romanticize my neurosis
So I hunt and shoot my shadow down
and it is dead.
Written By: June Rossaert
About The Author
June Rossaert
June Rossaert is a Vanier alumnus who studied as a Communications student at Vanier, with a background in Visual Arts and Cinema from the Saint-Hyacinthe Cegep. She is an aspiring novelist, poet and screenwriter hoping to obtain a degree in creative writing and literature. Her parents, one might be surprised to hear, are rather supportive of her chosen field, perhaps because they have yet to lose hope that she will eventually earn enough money to survive on her own, and her friends are simply blind optimists. June Rossaert is, essentially, a hopeless nerd with a passion for the written word which she desperately hopes to transfer through her works.
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