fortyone

Inflammatory pains, spasms

Legs running around

Weed falling like rain

Hands hanging from the ceiling

And fingers flying through the air

Sunny and a chance for flying pigs

The radio play in the background

You’re going to die

Shouting from underneath the walls

The city swarming with fear

Frogs falling from the trees like dead leaves

Blood is covered with dirt on the walls of gold

But alas

The sadness overwhelms

The flowers

Lilies

The colour of a beard

Brown as death itself.

Reviews

[Victoria PoetryBunny]

WOAH ... umm okay if you were to have watch me read this I was like this
o.O
in a really good way though. How the heck do you think of this? Lolz. I love it. Your mind is somewhere, some part of the writing world that is unique and fantastic. Love it. This made me smile:
"Sunny and a chance for flying pigs
The radio play in the background"
And this part here is just so ... opposite from what someone would normally think:
Hands hanging from the ceiling
And fingers flying through the air"
This line is also crazy... where the heck did you think of frogs? :D
"Frogs falling from the trees like dead leaves"
And did I say this yet... I love it. Lol.
This seems so haunted... and creepy in a awesome way!