by Jonathan O’Such
I watch on as the greatest minds of the generation before me- maybe even two- fade into unknowingness. Tears for memories, memories of friends and lovers, choked to death by depression’s left hand, brothers who never came back from the war, the war that no one cared about, that took their lives and left no body, marriages burned away- cloth fabric set ablaze by an idea in a matchbox distributed to every young adult, that love is a feeling, commitment is a useless tie, self-preservation should be their closest friend, when those tears dry, and their fingers rest, and their weary heads fall gently on their desks, I begin to wonder: if books are left to rot, collecting dusts on archived shelves, Does the writer’s brain rot with them?
Jonathan O’Such is a graduating senior majoring in English and Literary Studies with a Creative Writing Concentration. Jonathan has been writing since the age of six and seeks to publish poetry collections in the near future.