they handed me the manual,
pages stained with sweaty fingertips.
“it’s simple,” they said, all smirks.
but simple is a trap, a ruse.
step one said “breathe” but I
was gasping—lungs a dirty sponge.
step two read “stand tall” yet
I crouched, spine like broken rails.
somewhere around step five or six,
a fly drowned in my coffee cup.
I paused, watched its tiny struggle,
watched it fail, one wing twitching.
the thing they don’t tell you in
directions is how much it costs.
not in money, no, but old truths
sacrificed, charred under that logic.
still, I kept flipping pages. stubborn
like everyone else or just dumb.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: November 17th, 2025 11:11
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
Comments2
Under the facade of a short story lies deep meaning in this poem. So often the instructions seem simple but the costs are never explained. Well done Gray
What I felt was pure irony in the title drew me in....
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