Inside the C of of a soul.

Jealousy at its most potent.

Not joyed at all and yellow

you can imagine the look on her face.

Why is there a duvet here, and here

on a V on a stomach, painful,

suppressed and most cheeks

don’t welcome the distasteful drivel.

You can only see parts, a fist

has hurt this tonight.

Tap, tap tap, t-tap,

it’s the same when she’s biting

her lip, and now

there’s not a duvet over his hips.

There’s a shape, indented,

as if something had fallen, crashed

broke the ceiling and left such

rubble behind. On the bed

there was blood, there’s

no duvet at all. You can’t

imagine the look on her face.

Author's Note

Enjambment at its worst, comments on anything and everything are my life's worth.

Reviews

[cartera]

Mmm. I am going to have to come back to this one. You play with us and our imaginings sir. And that I suppose is the role of the observer poet.
ATB
Alex.

[Off With Her Head]

First of all, not asking questions in poetry is not a rule. In fact, I bet you'll never come across another who'll tell you that, they'll never say: don't ask questions in poetry. What I say in my reviews are unique to me and that's obvious because my soul is subjective and so is yours. If I don't place 'in my opinion' in front of an opinion of mine, does not detract from it being an opinion. I find that asking questions detaches me from the story. Not only because it makes me feel like I am trapped behind an aluminium constriction, but because it's too prose-like. Prose and poetry are defined sharply within my mind.

If you know what dystopia is, then likely you shouldn't muse over whether I've converted it to its proper adjective. Dystopian, Dystopia, Dystopic, all the same to me.

Thank you for the review.

[Nautili]

I assume the tap tap tapping is the sound of the murder weapon at work. sinister, in a rather detached fashion! I left a review of your review on my page.

[Michael Jarrell]

Very dark... I'm a fan. Welcome to writerscafe. Let me know whenever you want me to review your work. :)