(no subject)
i went to my grandparents house this evening and i brought my journal with me. after an hour of boredom, i found myself tracking my thoughts. i guess its considered a poem. let me know what you think, i didnt really put much thought into it but whatever.
beads of rain
battering the roof like
fists bruising pale skin. warm and dry interior with stray pillows
in every corner.
dinner table dressed
to kill. blood red plates. cooked roadkill. sharp
knives and gleaming forks.
the scent of food
efflorating throughout the house. loud voices booming like thunder. grandpa's deep belly laugh. haunting
beads of rain
battering the roof like
fists bruising pale skin. warm and dry interior with stray pillows
in every corner.
dinner table dressed
to kill. blood red plates. cooked roadkill. sharp
knives and gleaming forks.
the scent of food
efflorating throughout the house. loud voices booming like thunder. grandpa's deep belly laugh. haunting