by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Poetry
The vaguest of reflections blur Along the smokey windowpane. A child sits across from you, On the other side Features hidden by the dappled light. A wall of glass, a veil of mirrors, Separates the two of you. You sit here among texts and books, While the child...
by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Articles
327 hours. Roughly. I have spent 327 hours in the library this semester. Last semester was worse. I have devoted myself to this place, an academic temple with desks for altars. Strained, praying, reading holy scripture, again. Like being in a chapel as a child, there...
by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Poetry
When I hurt I try and make myself hurt deeper See if it is possible to excavate this pain all at once But it still keeps bleeding So I cut away at barely healed scar tissue Carve a scalpel into my chest and hope that there is nothing left There is always more...
by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Poetry
She says she thinks of me when she closes her eyes Little does she know That she’s already there when I close mine She sits behind my eyes Like she sits next to me Quiet, sure, sound I know she’s watching Listening Ever aware that I might wake But if I do, She’ll be...
by Lunchbox Editor | Apr 19, 2023 | Poetry
Till tomorrow you’ll say though you know time is no friend. If you live in yesterday, you’re already dead. How many morning-afters will it take? Has comfort not enriched you enough? Till tomorrow you’ll say. You are a river following lakes, constantly ...
