Words That Save A Thousand Lives |
by Chris Ozog

He told her,
her love 
was a Magnet.
And when he
got too close,
she broke like
a fragment. 
So penniless 
and indigent, 
that those 
sacred promises 
she kept locked
inside of Her 
reel of dreams, 
were sold 
to a creditor,
for some 
shattered mirrors 
and ship 
wrecked  debt, 
where she 
would starve
in productions 
marred by
Where she 
went to sleep; 
she ate her 
melancholy fate,
smeared her 
pompous sighs, 
on her shattered
porcelain  plate,
and climbed up
the hill inside 
her head,
as she slept 
In distaste,
her standards, 
and framed a
hollywood knight. 
You could reflect
without her 
but when she 
all you 
could hear,
were her infected
vowels taunting 
In the ill 
fated  night.  
Her films 
Were penciled in 
by the strokes
of unfaithful  
masquerades that 
Scribbled late
arriving loves 
until it built 
the facade
she inhabited. 
And she began 
to divorce her 
box office bombs,
and sought twenty
marbled plots, 
so she could 
one day sprout
like a field
of bouquets,
and sell
her disenchanted
soul to morticians, 
who dyed 
a blackened demise, 
In the wholeness 
of the atmosphere,
where the soil 
plummeted deeper 
into grey
inked shadows. 
Now she 
never sleeps
with dirtied 
battered realties,
and sunken 
Her scripts 
never end,
and she directs,
because she is
her sequel.
Christopher Ozog is a 22 year old writer who resides in Ann Arbor, Michigan where he currently attends Washtenaw Community College. He has previously been published in Burningword literary journal and the Commonline and currently edits Lavender Wolves Literary Journal. For more information, visit his twitter page