Molly Maroon,
Locked in a room,
Watches the painted floor dry.
She stares and she stares
With unblinking eyes,
Satisfying a smiling
Shadow’s belies.
A curdling pool,
Darkening with day;
Wafting wet iron—
A lovely display.
A feast of a portrait
For a gluttonous gaze.
Dazed as she is,
She speaks softly—
Squeaks softly;
Bubbles and blurts
Out rosy bouquets.
Her artist sardonically,
Nods and grins coldly—
Lackadaisically — and playfully
At her guttural praise.
Hot red and maroon—
Luke warm rust—
To cold tar.
Molly’s eyes follow
Her artist
Back home in a jar.
- Author: Creatistically Inclined ( Offline)
- Published: December 2nd, 2023 00:45
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 3
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