Contributor: Laura Taylor

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She wakes; blind,
bare
Can feel the air
brush, whisper on
skin
Can hear…drips
Rain?
Tongue feels tart,
tied

Where..?
Her hair, gone
Hands, fast,
bruised
inside
Tastes…rust.
Rust?
Face numbed

Cold
Unsure
though aware
of the certainty
No game
No hope

She waits


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Laura Taylor is a gobby Northerner with a penchant for upsetting apple carts. She has been writing and performing poetry for two years, and is unable to stop.