February 5, 2018
Underneath a city of stars
Decayed lips singed the sea,
Sewage stained his eyes black
The hole in the ground, half empty.
Gray coat and a denim skirt
The yellow bus melded with green,
A mountain followed her home
The first to ask if she'd been seen.
Freckles specked the bridge of his nose
Papers hung at his waist,
They say he visited his mother
35 years, 4 months, 27 days.
A child of milk cartons
Protruding ears and mottled teeth,
Her two wheels left for a moment
She struggled, then she screamed.
Photographs printed on milk cartons
Blurred faces behind glass,
Children missing for years
Missing people from forgotten past.
YOU ARE READING
YAWP: A Collection of Short Stories
Historia CortaShort stories I have written over the past five years that I may never finish-ranging from a preacher who lied about the word of God to a little girl with monsters in her basement, these are all stories I wrote myself and may never continue. In the...
