Convicted without a Trial
and executed
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
hobnail boot stomping my face with glee.
Careful: this character assassinates back.
See what you made me do?
Sounds lame from an adult, doesn’t it?
Someday, you’ll have to face yourself alone.
Traitor.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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