panacea ix.
Thomas Reid
was Einstein’s favorite
kill.
He was a guy
without any height or muscles on an inch
of his body,
but, boy, he acted like he could be
a professional wrestler.
All the trips to the doctor’s office,
all of the casts and gauze and
broken teeth and split lips
were all because of
him.
He tucked every last ripped petal
and dislocated shoulder
right in his brag book,
like he was proud.
That’s why Einstein and I both smiled
when we saw him leaning against the edge of that bridge.
Alone.
He smirked
when he saw me.
“You love looking for trouble,
don’t you?”
He asked me.
I nodded.
“You have no idea.”
YOU ARE READING
glitch
PoetryI am a monster. Everybody knows it, but they're too afraid to say it out loud. My body's made of static and dead skin cells, and I don't know if knowing that i'm a failure is what makes me sad or if it's the fact that everyone else knows i'm a failu...
