While racing around the rink
Before I went to go drink
Someone checked my hip
Making us slip
Falling like that really stinks
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Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Whoops! That must have hurt! Great poem, love the rhyme scheme and playfulness of this!!
Oopsie daisy! 🤣🤣🤣
Excellent poetry , love the rhythmic of it