• Anxious Poets Society

on burnt, gauzed wings by Hammad

deriving your constant disaster

seeking reason to hold second nature

a candle to the scorching death of your pleasure ames forging the face of the crying master

with my head buried in my hands

and my hair dampest around it's fringes while the skin raises to a thousands syringes forceful to move a corpse till it stands

phantasmagoric, one may say.

the real pleasure was the pain of flight

when rotting feathers line the trail of searching and a shred of bandage marks a place of meaning the daggered wounds cry a silent blight

oh burnt, gauzed winds

carry repair to the limping limbs

and rapport to the screeching screams

on burnt, gauzed wings


”My name is Hammad and I am 17 years old. My writing is often influenced by the music and art I consume, as well as by my most contemplative days and when I'm at my lowest. The solace I gain during these exercises is one I hope translates into work that is meaningful.”

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