one of those strangest days
when all aeroplanes
they scour the sky
shrilly
the birds giving up on that
view
the sun hid its rays
in the deepest dungeons of doom
students only occasionally
hover around
smacking of popular party music
leaving more room for me
to reflect
about those wars when the dust settled on
all the commodities of my living
furniture, pots and pans, lamps
viewfinder with worms
glued to the glass
zoomed in, it looks horrifying
when there’s nothing to light my way
Miss Holme went to sleep
exhausted by it all
international injustice in the name of ilk
*
June – September 2022
***
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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