Saturday, 12 July 2014

She looked down at him


She looked down at him
His face buried in pillows
And then out the window
Darkness were spreading
Like squid's ink in a fishbowl
The smell of soot in her nostrils
Made her frown and scoff
She needn't look down again
To see him look up to her
And watch his face fall apart
In a million million pieces.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Avis sur la chose en question
Feedback on the thing in question

Three, or two, or one

"A writer needs three things, experience, observation, and imagination, any two of which, at times any one of which, can supply the la...