PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There are zombies in the hallways

with interchanging body parts

with angled jaws and removable chins.

These Frankensteins are always

creating and disecting walls

of brick, mortar and all hardened things.

I think I am too fleshy for them.



There are voices in the neighbor room.

There is laughter pregnant with coughs.

There is enough empty talking for them all

while I am left here, growing small.

My rotting has begun

while their alter egos find the sun

Now there is nothing to be done.



All of this scurring is putting pebbles in my head.

They drip drop in a dizzying fashion.

And the pestering moment is stuck on the clock

like a merciless master

stringing me up on a rack

and claiming all my pearly teeth

One by one, leaving me with no smile.



My tears, they call this

their Bastille Day.

The storming through

fibres, brain, voicebox and digits.

"Ma'am, this dyke is cracking..."

I do not know where

all this rain is coming from.



But it's a small massacre

in the corner, like a puddle

from a leaky ceiling.

An expendable loss.

In the neighbor room

the party is still a party

and the closed door still stares at me.