»
Archives
»
Dark Poetry #3
»
Lessons
| Dark Poetry #3 |
|
Lessons |
|
|
WhiteRose Member Elite
since 2002-07-23
Posts 3208somebody's dungeon 
|
She always smelled starched stiff and clean, yet molding around the edges somehow, as the total aura appeared swimming with rotten life. Pulsating from her was loneliness, a bitter soul, clothed no, bound by appearance for appearance sake a facade, sand blasted face. She was skinny and tight as if skin was stretched to it's limit to cover the myriad of bones that jutted out here and there. She was partial to boys evidenced by the sickening drool that escaped her mouth when young lads were just too close. It was just third grade. The child I was, so afraid, so wrapped up, yet seemingly so naked, trembled in fear of her up until the day, pondering dreams of yesterday. Reclined I suppose, to layback too relaxed, and from behind I felt her slap, hard upon my face enough to sting with fire, from that day on it was with bitter stare, rebellious glare that I faced my enemy, and she probably has long forgotten me but her I will never forget. So this is for you Mrs. Stamp a tribute after your death. WhiteRose "my reflection becomes me" |
||
| © Copyright 2002 Anne Thompson - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
MikelEavage New Member
since 2002-10-21
Posts 6 |
I like it...especially the brutality. This is one of the few poems I have seen which is quite brutal emotionally but doesnt emphasize it, like "I RAPED THE FECAL FLESH IN HELLISH GONNOREA" |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
