Spinning
Running
Panting.
The drip never stops.
Its red, its warm,
Its overwhelming.
Fire slips down
Your throat.
Jaw stapled agape,
Molers grind.
Canines whine,
Swallow the sun.
Spinning
Running
Gasping.
Air ways close.
Chloroform and sulfur
Wafting in the ductwork.
Its red, its smoldering,
Its pain.
Red summer brings
Boiling rain
Gouge your eyes
To hide your pain.
YOU ARE READING
Acosmist Dysphoria
PoesíaAcosmist Dysphoria The writings of an uneasy adolescent Who believes in nothing.
