Did you think, you were worming your way into my heart? Did I surprise, you Worm out, the soggy bits till you hit the rotten core – ah, you found my dirty little secret.
poem
Quarry
when it rains, it pours bent over your little old body gingerly gingerly gingerly
The Aftermath
I want to sleep but I don’t have the courage to close my eyes for fear of what I might see when I open them tomorrow morning Out the window she stood under that lamp post with the yellow umbrella I gave her last October and that green scarf I liked Her hair in the wind; her brown eyes staring at the gutter seeing her reflection from the dirt stained ground Continue reading "The Aftermath"