She tangled herself in the shower curtain.
The music downstairs
hit the ceiling and leaked
through the cracks in the corners
of her eyes.
Smokey eyeshadow
smudged on the plastic sheet
that became a coffin with a heater.
Each breath was another notch
on the dial.
Until flesh met wood making gun shots.
"Hey, are you done in there?"
Someone yelled from the
other side of the door.
She unwrapped herself,
slowly, hesitantly
peeling off the last fold.
She wasn't ready.
YOU ARE READING
Dear: Hell
PoetryThe elevator broke now death played with you all night. - Hell's Deal ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sometimes monsters are real, sometimes Hell is fictional, but both have impacted many lives. So, take seat with some coffee and enjoy this poetry collection.
