Poetry | Verge

By Genna Edwards, Senior Staff Columnist

what counts is i am not a victor — i am losing

but i’m writing it all down, all the chasing, the confusion 

all the bruises and the ruins

she can’t love me, okay — moving

on means going faster

(i avoided a disaster)

and i’ll stay up all night 

writing lines to make it matter


i could rip her heart out

and shove it down her throat

don’t test me i’ll do it

test me — she won’t


don’t tell me it’s “quite easy” being on your own

i wouldn’t know

the ghosts follow me home