I follow you and slip on rotting fruit.
Swarming mosquitos stick to sunburnt skin.
“Look there fathead, I see the pirate’s loot.”
“Look there, see where the dark banyans begin?”
I force a smile and wipe my bothered brow.
“Fathead,” you say, “it's time to take the lead.”
I plunder on with strength I know not how,
through jungles thick and now it’s getting late.
Entwining growth, entangled I can’t move.
Cannibals scream and Jaguars loom above.
Are we a team? I’ve nothing left to prove.
I fight to breathe and then I feel a shove.
You grab my hand and pull me from the mire.
You draw me close, lifting me ever higher.
About the Creator
John McFaul
I dont think of myself as a writer. I can barely spell. But I found this contest to be fun, so here goes.
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To Give Your Last Twenty
He walks oddly, shuffling and nearly tripping down the hallway toward his apartment door. I slow my pace, allowing my neighbor— a stuffy ex-marine with one missing tooth and a strong odor of liquor and two weeks' worth of unwashed stench always accompanying him—to reach his door. I crinkle my nose, nearly gagging as he dawdles ahead.
By Ashley3 days ago in Motivation
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