The food is all fake
genetically modified stake
autoimmune on the rise
but we all close our eyes
shove down fake donuts and cake
there is no time for us to fresh bake.
1
Share
About the Creator
Tiffany Joanne
An all indulging artist just trying to free some thoughts.
Keep reading
More stories from Tiffany Joanne and writers in Poets and other communities.
Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Cravena day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.