Paper Margarine

The sound was behind me,

A sweet mocking laugh,

The walls green, grey, grimy,

And windows with broken glass.

 

The last time I ever cast an Origami,

A demon born from my boredom,

Chanting ‘I couldn’t love you, Mommy’,

With a voice post mortem.

 

Between two trees under the rain,

Blood seeping out of my veins,

A flash of memories and

Then more pain.

 

The sound was behind me,

A sweet mocking slur.

And the frogs seem to agree,

As blue drop like eyes look down on her.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s