Andi Leigh Writes

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Decay

on January 18, 2023

In the morgue they’re waiting.

Ready for their honorable day.

A full face of makeup and

Their best clothing for decay.

All stitched up and drained,

Not a hair allowed to stray.

Eyes glued shut, with a smile,

They’re watching from the doorway.

burn the felt heart

Checker Piece

There is a checker piece Lost on a chessboard, Playing a game it'll Never properly win, But it refuses to concede With confidence That it'll remain there Amongst the kings that Pertain to the goings-on Of the board.

Start Graying

There is a split in the ocean. There is a bee in my chest. I wonder when I'll start graying Since I always seem so stressed. There is a meal left out cold. There are no answers to this test. I constantly worry about the future, Wondering what will be next. There is a secret amongst them. There are too many oppressed. I don't think we'll be able to fix it. We all just seem to crave rest.

The Mess

There is legitimacy In our stolen time. We give our days to love, To wake up every morning With resistance to the Imminent despair that aims To leech off of our creativity. I see the love for freedom And the longing for taking Back what is ours—forever. Even after we are long gone, The mess we leave behind May be worth displaying.

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