Nails of the Death
by Angela Hepworth
big eyes
pretty eyes
wild eyes
bloodshot eyes
tired eyes
so, so tired eyes
big smiles
big boxes, big crates
big tears
big responsibilities
big thanks
big opportunities
big, heavy thoughts
big luck
big luck in america
this is why we love it here
everything is bigger
old men
young men
joking men
leering men
leering women
whining women
whining men
awful men and women
and awful loud drooling children
when did it become so easy
to write them all off?
fingers twitching
fingers scrambling
fingers closing around necks
fingers scratching out eyes
fingers clenched, smashing through walls
fingers helpless, empty
fingers desperate to feel
fingers that will never be still
sad face
smiling face
dont mope
dont cry
dont pout
this is a gift
this is how lucky you are
(and you are
and you know it)
so smile
smile at the people
smile at the children
smile at the women
and the men
even when they hurt you
even when they kill you
smile up into the barrel of the gun that pokes you
in your stupid fucking forehead
no matter where you are
nails chipped
nails broken
nails caked with the flesh of face
nails red, red and redder,
nails that cannot be cleaned
even when they are scrubbed raw
nails of the death
you wish could take you
face smiling, still
face dripping in crimson and gold
big smiles
big goals
big dreams
big fucking deal
this is all that matters
About the Creator
angela hepworth
Hello! I’m Angela and I love writing fiction—sometimes poetry if I’m feeling frisky. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
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More stories from angela hepworth and writers in Poets and other communities.
the whirlwind and the wildfire
he is a whirlwind - chaos incarnate - torrents and turbulence filling the air with debris that now lands in my realm, before the rainclouds form. a massive front of low pressure dragged behind his highs. but he doesn't know i am a wildfire. his winds give me oxygen to breathe, but he doesn't like the heat and his emotions rain down. stormy tears to put the inferno out. the blaze of my fury subdued. his winds have changed direction, for now. exhausted by his own friction. the earth my fire burns left to renew as it needs to, parenting inventive convenience, for the cycle must continue. but the whirlwind returns, so curious, wanting to be close, and still unaware of how he affects my wild heart of fire. so, i burn and i hiss and i glow. a climax of explosive instinct - a natural reaction, but a hazard nonetheless. and the world demands i put my fire out and block his tornadic gusts. do it or they will do it for me, before they carry on about the weather, "... what a dangerous idea for the wildfire to be so reckless with the whirlwind..."
By ⸘jason alan‽about 21 hours ago in Poets
The Whiskered War
A domestic drama; rather, you're witnessing a millennium-old conflict over the fate of the entire planet (and possibly just a smA titanic struggle between wits and strength has been raging in the shadows for millennia: The Great Nibble vs. The Purrsecution. The cats, the furry fighters, the fascists of the feline world, occupy one corner. In the other, mice make up the squeaky squad, the small militia. The reward? Domination over the entire world (and possibly an especially tasty cheese wheel).
By Richard Weber2 days ago in Humor
Comments (2)
The human condition needs much improvement indeed, Angela. Well said.
Oof. I feel this really sums up how things are right now. Great writing.