PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

One grainy day I slipped, quick-stepped out of the shower with bloody knuckles. The address smeared on the granite with my signature on it was for my bones and matched the scarlet splotches on my dress. I glance down, distracted by the deafening howls of the empty vessel just beneath my breast. It's snarling at me, especially louder than the rest.The screaming won't stop. I have a few words I'm mouthing, spew: Mud, bleeding, throat, rot.

Mundane from day one, snip snip, the closest boy clips green strips of parchment. I'm parched.

Eyes swivel wildly across the room, and tosses me a gloomy stare. A pair of icicles wiggle anxiously.

The stench is what bothers me most, the etching of his black pen clicks and swirls into the crust, colors in, squeakily closes again.

Two more hours left while the day grows sour.

I blush, look away, sipping my crush orange soda.

It's freezing in here. Smells like gas. Cleaning products.

Blossom's bleating. Fast-line, sewer-type well. Beer on the highway, breezy, quite pleasing and the sweat sticks.