“Son of a Witch”
All in a haste come a flurry of hits
Like a pile of falling pissed off bricks
The expected eruptions cause explosion
Inventing fear from concrete devotion
With constant tremor inside his head
His panic stirs his conscious dead
As the trembles settle, realizes too late
He’s the earthquake maker, dealt unlucky fate
Lying on the floor in his own disgust
A moment after a clashing thrust
The dizziness drowning out her full intent
There’s nothing left but the smell of resent
Lazily twitching like a thirsty sunfish
Hopeless like a puppy near a vacant dish
He’s eight years old and mom’s enemy
The carpet stain was her last memory
2007-08-02
12:12:05
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4 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry