the wooden steps to the door
of the mobile home,
aching and resisting
the pressure you apply.
windows boarded by the smoke,
because you could never quit-
not for your lust for life,
not for your savior.
I sat on a twin size bed
and contemplated our nature,
listened to the PSA
playing in the living room:
"two dead, no trace of the killer,
be cautious, be wary"
and I heard that,
but did not listen.
where were you?
in your room rolling a joint,
making phone calls to the county jail,
smashing bottles?
I'd take three hour long walks
just to breathe,
listening to music
instead of your bellowing cries.
-
Author:
β¦ π₯ππΆπ©π’π¦π€π₯ β¦ (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 20th, 2025 08:33
- Comment from author about the poem: Thanks for reading!
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
It is the real life grittiness that gains a fave in this raw poem of life that we all close our eyes to and dream of better things. Very well done
Thank you so much!
Wow! This reads like a noir thriller unfolding, raw, dark, gritty, real! All of that and how effectively it pulls the reader into the emotions, this gets a major fave from me.! Well done, friend! πΉπ
So glad you liked it, and the fact you said "noir thriller" is the icing on the cake for me! Thx for reading!
You are most welcome, hanleigh! You are most welcome, my friend! I really enjoy your work.
I'm glad! Your support is greatly appreciated!!!!
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