It pulls at a reflex
I cannot deny
even as I push back
and further still
it does not stop.
I taste metal and blood,
breathe in smoke and ash,
I crawl and cower
with dry heaves
pushing up and out,
my chest empty of air,
my heart empty of all.
Curled up inside rubble
I dream of daylight,
even if it comes
I will still taste iron and steel,
brick and mortar,
for a long time to come.


OctPoWriMo Day – 3 – The Taste Of Metal


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