There was an opportunist in the room.
Somewhat taken back by this thug,
I ran like adrenaline was the drug.
Sweat replaced blood as a redolent perfume.
I tried to get away from the pale ghost,
someone who was expecting cash
from a man who couldn't dash.
The addict had to brag and boast.
In the presence of the ashen-faced bastard,
I watched myself freeze in a hardlined winter
like silence from the days of Pinter.
I blanked him when I was ostracized and plastered.
The memory was embedded in my psyche.
It was emblazoned across a dark brain
the charcoal painter mixed in with a black stain.
The prickly heat made a thorny issue spiky.
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Author:
Pres (
Offline) - Published: June 23rd, 2026 01:07
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments2
Bad memories of a past traumatic incident are portrayed in this poem. Nicely done
Love this
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