Up in Smoke

January 10, 2011
Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Carcinogens twisting off your hair,
your face, black like pitch,
eyes on fire, flagrant portals up above your still present
smirk.

I see they've gotten to you already.

Your semolina skin, a coarse
textured piece of bathmat; the tears
that will be strewn on it, sordid, unclean
affairs; they are tarnished
by the feet that have been slapped
across your face.
You will scream, of course,
when it happens.
Coarse bellows suggesting a
bovine Armageddon.
But will they listen, I wonder:
I can hear them now.
With their subdued laughter seemingly becoming louder,
each passing second-
the volume comes with the vendetta.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback