Don’t get it, Twister.
I’m sick to damn death of cyclones.
Fuck you, Dorothy.
Your little dog, too.
Looks like you put your faith
in a shoe-thieving witch
with an army of minions
celebrating a woman’s death.
This savior
who lives
in a pink bubble
wants you to take out
the whole family—
No, not to Denny’s
Tony Soprano would
laugh in your face
Karen Hill didn’t manipulate children, Shannon; she spoke for herself, in their presence.
Here’s a song for the barren queen of playing victim:
Once upon a time, there was a tragic princess who pretended perfection by reconstructing the past, distorting reality with a case of stolen documents. Everyone had great sympathy for the vicious victim whose time will come.
As for me, I’ll never weigh the same as a duck.
Ashes, ashes
All fall down
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.