Emma Lew
A bit of space and peace are good for writing poetry. I like to feel warm, so a small electric heater should be blowing on my ankles.
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Drive one nail out with another,that’s our only hope.
We can’t live any more like birds on a branch,
because the murderous past never stops,
not even at night.
I left anyway, in spirit
dreamed I was living my own life
my mind was on exits, I tried to buy the truth
some nights until I ran out of dark