"Elms," she muttered, stumbling down the hall. "Elms."
What's that?
"Elms."
She tugged on a sweatshirt, stumbled to the door. "Elms."
Tears pricked her eyes, slid down her cold cheeks.
A sob hitched its way up her throat and she swallowed it down, trying to regain control.
This universe was spinning like a top.
She couldn't think.
"Elms!"
The door budged and she stumbled inside, releasing her flood of emotion. She cried openly as she stumbled into the man's arms.
"Jordan it's okay," he said, his arms around her.
She cried, sobbing, broken.
He kissed her chastely on her soggy, bawling lips.
"What is it?"
She tried to regain composure but the magnitude of what she just did crushed her again.
"I--I---" she couldn't speak, couldn't think.
"Jordan," the man said, softly, bringing her inside, letting her sit on his bed. "Speak up, hun."
"Painting my nails and bumped this one against a wall and now I have to do it all over again!"
She held up a finger.
YOU ARE READING
Meanwhile and Maybe: An Agglomeration of Deadpan Poetry
PoetryThis is a agglomeration of deadpan poetry. I don't have a clue what agglomeration even means. This will contain, as I said, deadpan poetry, sarcastic rants, rip-off themes, cryptic philosophies, and dry humor. Kick up your feet and prepared to be bo...
