Gleam (The Plated Prisoner, #3)

by Raven Kennedy

I don’t think I’ll ever have the kind of love that I crave.

My spirit is ravenous for rampancy. Starving for wander. I want to go everywhere, see everything.

We tell ourselves twisted lies to tangle around our wicked truths, all so that we can get caught up in the bind and not have to face bare regrets.

The sound it makes when I open the front cover is the crack of a jaw yawning awake. It’s the sigh of a breath kept inside for too long, closed beneath parchment ribs.

POETRY??? POETRY!!!!!!

The corporeal anger borne beneath my ribs makes her presence known once again, the creature bloomed from soured soil tilled in the resentment of my soul.

jesus christ the imagery is INSANE

That’s the thing about escapism. In whatever form, it always ends, and then we’re forced back into a reality that’s not nearly as satisfying.