Lichen, Symbiotic Relationship
The Clawing of the Classes
Crispy feelings: sorting through the
mess. I am the lily, the lantern, the
Lace. The LION in me covered
in leaves. My hundred
and two
your one thousand
and blue. Count
for me the ways you dip me in the
dance. Count for me the ways you
hold me in my sleep.
Red ruby slippers
house
fallen
on
a
witch
her
legs
sticking
out
like
a
caterpillar
escaping
a
cocoon.
Her lemon cookies were over baked,
and she overwhelmed them with mint.
Punished
by
the
tornado,
the
house
upon
her
chest.
While raisins and oatmeal SPLASHED
into the bowl. THEY SPLASHED
into the freakin’ bowl
and no one cared.
No one heard their cries.
People just kept buying
and wasting time
while others behind fences
wailed for bread and for homes
that didn’t fall from the sky.
Sigh. Exhausted. Pitiful times!
The rich as rich as metal skin condors
and the poor as poor as wood skin
snails.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but first the rich must waste it.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but first the witches must buy
expensive ingredients for bad cookies
and lust after ruby red slippers.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but there is no rest for the wicked.
Punch the space bar as many times
as you like, but you don’t inch closer
to connecting the clogs
the dissonances the spawns
and the swans…. More words
won’t help the meek inherit the earth.
No, the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
long live
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
long live
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the rich
the legion of rich leeches
leaching for a lichgate
to worship their holy black
nonsensical overlord
made of leeches and lichen
the Lich.
The Lich King,
the one true one who
likens to a parasite.
About the Creator
Andrea Lawrence
Freelance writer. Undergrad in Digital Film and Mass Media. Master's in English Creative Writing. Spent six years working as a journalist. Owns one dog and two cats.
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We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arctic4 days ago in Fiction
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