Gallery Poem by Brianna Carnegie

We all have dark places. They reside in the cracks of our souls. Everyone goes inside sometimes, but for you, I will follow with three sources of light on hand and sit in the silence and sable ink. I'll listen to your breath so I know you're still with me; the only thing worse than being dead is being alone. The deafening silence will echo the old fragments of you, now lingering there in your splintered caverns. We are all murderers, having killed parts of ourselves to survive. There is blood on all of our hands. Something somewhere had to die along the way so we could stay alive, and no one should have to visit the grave sites alone.