the world cracked open
in this eternal February of my grief,
scavenging Tuesdays, hoarding them
like acorns, dragging Sundays behind a flatbed truck through the rocky red clay,
ferrous and feral, crowbar to kneecaps,
machete to spine,
scimitar through heart,
I drag myself through muck,
nasty rumors tangling my hair,
memories of love stinging the back of my throat,
nauseating me with conditions
I’ll never satisfy, sacrifice becomes spinach clinging to my teeth,
dental floss dangling out of reach
profane joy stomping indulgent malice into my visage.
Careful: this character assassinates back.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a subversive weirdo nerd witch who loves rocks. Intrusive rhyme bothers me. Some of my fiction might have provoked divorce proceedings in another state.😈
My words are mine. Suggest ai use and get eviscerated.
MA English literature, CofC
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Pandora’s Burden
“My brother warned me to not accept gifts from the one who commissioned you,” said Epimetheus to the woman clad in silvery raiments standing at the entrance to the temple. Her silver tiara and the silver rings on her fingers and toes glinted in the firelight cast by torches set on either side of the doorway. Lingering in the shadows, beyond the reach of the flames as she was, he could not tell what she held in her hands. At first what appeared to be a box was perhaps a funerary urn, or maybe merely an apple.
By J. Otis Haas3 days ago in Fiction
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